


Of All the Colors in the Rain

by etonnant67



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1980s, Alternate Universe - 1990s, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Angst, Coming of Age, Egregious Number of Prince References, Existential Crisis, Family Issues, First Time, Lots of bad 80s and 90s fashion, Lots of mediocre 80s and 90s music, M/M, Mentions of alcohol, Mentions of terminal illness, Non-Linear Narrative, PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS VERY CAREFULLY, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Homophobia, Self-Discovery, Smoking (but it's the 80s), Time Loop, chosen family, mentions of minor character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-08
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-08-12 00:42:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 66,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20162830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/etonnant67/pseuds/etonnant67
Summary: 28 feels like the end of the world. But sometimes, the end takes you right back to the beginning.Or, in the alternative, Junmyeon finally gets a second chance to try to make things right.----"You don’t remember everything in your life, okay, you just remember moments. And you want to create those moments."- Dallas Green"Honey, I know, I knowI know times are changingIt's time we all reach outFor something new, that means you too."- Prince, "Purple Rain"“When there's blood in the sky – red and blue = purple... purple rain pertains to the end of the world and being with the one you love and letting your faith/god guide you through the purple rain.”- Prince, explaining the meaning behind "Purple Rain"





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally supposed to be my entry for the first round of the One For All Fest but then life and school got in the way and I couldn't finish in time. So instead, I decided to take my time with this and really explore the plot. This is, to date, the longest thing I've ever written as well as the most complicated thing I've ever done. I've worked on it in some capacity for the past 8 (!) months and it is very much my baby. 
> 
> Two very basic things and then one VERY important warning:
> 
> \- Everything thing in here (the movies, the songs, the books, the foods,the clothes, the brands) are era appropriate. Some of the dates may not line up with the day assigned in the fic (sorry!) and I did take a few liberties here and there, but I wanted to make this as immersive as possible. There’s so much background behind everything in this fic but I didn’t have the energy to make an explainer for each thing, but maybe i’ll do it at some point in the future. But if you have any questions about anything or want to know more about anything, let me know and I’ll do my best to answer. 
> 
> \- This story relies on the “time loop as puzzle” sci-fi theory which basically means that the main character learns something new about the setting/themselves with each successive loop through time. It’s only after they have learned as much as they can learn that they are able to come up with a way to solve the puzzle and exit the loop. 
> 
> \- IMPORTANT, PLEASE READ: Parts of this fic deal with illness, specifically, the AIDS crisis in the 80s-90s (none of the main characters deal with it directly but it does play a role in certain scenes). If you don't want to read those sections for ANY REASON there's an index in the end notes that lists the scenes where this is a major plot point so you can skip them.
> 
> And now, on with the show!

**September 4, 1991. Take One.**

Junmyeon rolls over, his legs bunching in the tangled sheets. He struggles to reach his alarm clock, the sudden chatter of AM radio cutting through the lingering fogginess of sleep. 

_ Gooooood morning, Portland! It’s 7:15 on September 4, 1991! Happy Wednesday! It’s another wet one out there, so grab your umbrellas and raincoats! _

He gets out of bed. Stretches. 

It’s raining again. But it’s always raining. That’s the thing with Portland. The rain never leaves. 

He goes through his morning routine. Cereal for breakfast, cornflakes this time. Showers. Shaves. Brushes his teeth. Gets dressed. Blue button down, grey sweater, black slacks, brown shoes. Steps out into the gray morning. The rain has slowed a bit, to a light mist that he’s grown to associate with the city. He’s always found it to be kind of unsatisfying, like the clouds are only just whispering about the idea of rain instead of giving into the downpour. It’s a little ironic, he thinks, that he moved to a place where even the weather can’t fully commit. It’s fitting. 

He doesn’t bother with an umbrella and just lets the early-September dampness cling to his coat and soak through his hair. He waits for the bus in silence, watching the cars drive past, their tires squeaking on the slick road. The bus comes at 8:30, just like it always does. It’s just about half full when it reaches his stop, like it usually is. He nods to the bus driver as he pays his fare. Seventy-five cents. The ride to his office takes the same 25 minutes, the bus navigating its way from the suburbs into downtown Portland. His office is the same--cubicles just starting to fill as the clock strikes 9. He says hello to Nick and Angie as he makes his coffee. Nods in acknowledgment to Susan. He settles at his desk, boots up his Gateway modem. The code he’d been working on last night flickers to life in front of him, the complex strings of numbers and letters blinking at him in green. He scrolls through, looking over his work from last night.

A whole section of the code he wrote last night has disappeared. 

“Mother_ fucker _,” he mutters under his breath. He’d been having issues with the project since last week, the program always glitching out or resetting on him. He’s had to redo parts of the code at least three or four times.

All in all, it’s just another average day. 

“Enjoying the rain yet, grumpy?” Junmyeon looks up over the lip of his cubicle wall. Amber is hanging over the edge, smirking down at him, her bangs hanging into her eyes.

“Happy Wednesday to you too, Amber,” he deadpans back. He picks up his coffee and takes a sip. He grimaces. It’s gone cold.

“No smile?” Amber comes around to the cubicle’s entrance, leaning in the doorway. She looks every bit like the grunge fan she is; gray plaid flannel, baggy jeans. As an almost sarcastic nod to the fact that she’s _ at work _ and should at least attempt to somewhat look the part, she’s wearing neatly laced Doc Martens, the fresh shine of the shoe polish glinting in the fluorescent office lighting.

“What’s there to smile about?” Junmyeon says. He turns back to his computer monitor. “It’s just another Wednesday. And my fucking code has reset _ again _.”

“But it could be a new and exciting Wednesday!” Amber replies, her voice lilting upwards. “I wanna go to the movies tonight.”

“And?” Junmyeon keeps clicking through, trying to see if any of last night’s code is salvageable. 

“You should come with me.” Amber goes over to his desk and places both hands on the back of his swivel chair, spinning Junmyeon around to face her. Junmyeon rolls his eyes at her and sighs.

“I don’t know, Amber,” he replies. “I’m busy tonight.”

“Don’t lie, you’re never busy.” Amber crosses her arms. “You don’t ever go out unless I drag you out, you don’t have any hobbies, and in all the time that I’ve known you, you’ve never introduced me to any other friends, so! You should stop bullshitting and come out with me tonight.”

Junmyeon sighs again but Amber is right. She knows him too well. She is his only real friend, the only person that he’d gotten close to since moving here from Oakland. She’d noticed him when he’d started at the company, shaking his hand enthusiastically when the boss had taken him around the office on his first day, introducing him to the other staff. She’d waved at him excitedly every morning for a week, waves that Junmyeon would halfheartedly return with a weak smile. On the Wednesday of his second week there, she’d sat down next to him during lunch in the breakroom and demanded that he go to the movies with her that night.

_ “We’re the only two Asians at this motherfucking company and Portland sucks enough as it is. We’re gonna be friends whether you like it or not.” _

Amber had been extremely persuasive from the very beginning.

So he went with her. They saw a second run of _ The Silence of the Lambs _, Amber’s choice. Junmyeon bought a large popcorn, to share.

After that, they fell into a routine. They’d eat lunch together every day at work. They saw a movie once a week at the old theatre three blocks down on East Burnside Street. They always go on Wednesdays, when the theatre shows second-run films and old movies, half-off. Junmyeon likes Amber. She’s funny, and talks a lot and is loud enough to fill up all of his own silence. She gets him in a way that he never thought anyone would, not anymore at least. Not since he moved away. And she never really pries into Junmyeon’s life. She gets it.

“So?” Amber asks again, waving a hand in front of Junmyeon’s face. “Movies?”

Junmyeon smiles to himself and then turns around in his chair, facing his monitor again.

“Sure,” he says, “movies. Now get out of my cubicle, I have to redo this entire line of code or the boss is gonna kill me.”

“Awesome,” Amber calls out over her shoulder as she leaves. “I’ll come get you at six!”

\---

The rest of the day passes in a blur. Junmyeon rewrites the missing code and makes more progress on the project. He works through his lunch and is still deeply immersed when Amber comes by at six, raincoat draped over her arm.

“Ready to go?” She asks. “It’s not really a question, we have to go now, the movie starts in thirty minutes.”

“Give me five minutes,” he says to her. “I’ll meet you out front.”

“It better only be five.”

Junmyeon presses save on his work -- three times just to be safe--shuts down his computer. He grabs his coat and heads out, nodding goodnight to his coworkers on his way to the main entrance.

Amber is waiting by the elevator.

“Four minutes and forty five seconds,” she says, looking up from her watch as he approaches.

“I told you it would only be five minutes.” Junmyeon reaches past her and presses the elevator down button. “When have I ever lied to you?”

The elevator arrives with a quick _ ding _, the doors sliding open.

“Never,” Amber replies. “I should have never doubted you.”  
  


\---

“What are we seeing tonight?” Junmyeon asks as they head down the last block to the theatre. The sun’s set and the temperature’s dropped. The air feels dense with the rain. It’s brisk against his face. 

“They’re doing a showing of _ Purple Rain _ tonight for some reason.” Amber replies. Junmyeon’s heart jumps into his throat. “You ever see it?”

Junmyeon swallows, hard, trying to push his heart back down to his chest. He nods. “Yeah.” He tries to keep his voice steady. “ I saw it a few times. I first saw it on the night it came out.”

“I didn’t know were a Prince fan.” Amber looks at him through her bangs. She has the hood of her rain jacket pulled down low over her forehead. It makes her look very young. 

Junmyeon suppresses a tiny laugh. “Not exactly.”

Amber laughs out loud. “You have to be to see _ Purple Rain _ more than once. It’s kinda a shitty movie.”

They turn the corner and Junmyeon can see the theatre’s vintage marquee. 

**NOW PLAYING**

**CHILD’S PLAY 3** 1:15 4:00 7:30

**DEAD AGAIN** 3:00 5:25 8:40 

**BEASTMASTER 2** 12:15 3:40 7:15 9:20

**TONIGHT ONLY!**

**PURPLE RAIN** 6:45

“It is pretty bad,” Junmyeon agrees. “But my ex---” he breaks off. “Someone I used to be close to loves Prince more than anything else in the whole world.” He takes a deep breath, trying to quell the deep tugging in his chest. “I saw it with him. He really wanted to see it on opening night. Bought tickets ahead of time and everything.”

They walk up to the box office. 

“I think this is the first time you’ve ever shared anything personal with me,” she says as they wait in line. “Who would have thought that you’d finally tell me something about your mysterious Cali lifestyle.” She wiggles her eyebrows at him as the person in front of them finishes up.

“Two for _ Purple Rain _,” she says to the bored teenager behind the counter. Amber pays for their tickets and they head inside, going through the old heavy glass and wood front doors. Like always, the doors creak and bang behind them.

They go straight to the concession stand so Junmyeon can uphold his part of the bargain.

“You know,” Junmyeon replies. “Maybe I’m finally warming up to you.” He buys a large popcorn, extra butter for them to share. The usher rips their tickets and directs them to theatre 6, gesturing down the long, red carpeted hallway. 

“Dreams do come true.” Amber pokes him in the ribs as they find seats near the back and settle down. The theatre is fairly empty, only a handful of people are scattered in the rows in front of them. 

Junmyeon balances the popcorn in between the two of them and takes a handful, shoving it in his mouth. The salty-buttery taste almost quells the strange deja vu settling deep in his stomach.

The overhead lights dim and the screen flickers to life. Junmyeon and Amber eat popcorn as they watch the previews. 

The lights go all the way down and the Warner Brothers logo eases on the screen and the opening notes of “Let’s Go Crazy” fill the movie theatre. 

_ Dearly Beloved, we are gathered here today to get through this thing called life. _

Amber pokes Junmyeon in the ribs excitedly and starts to mouth along to the words.

_ Electric word, life, it means forever and that’s a mighty long time. _

Junmyeon still remembers all the lyrics, even after all this time.

The album had been the soundtrack of his summer in 1984. The cassette tape was a mainstay in his car’s player. They’d gone to the record store, together, on the day the album had dropped, Junmyeon watching as the cashier bagged both the vinyl and the cassette tape. They played it on repeat while they drove around Berkeley, volume turned all the way up, the two of them shout-singing with all the windows down.

_ Are we gonna let the elevator bring us down? _

_ Oh, no let’s go! _

And sometimes, deep in the dead of night, the two of them would drive around, playing Purple Rain as loud as they could, trying so hard to keep every aching sadness at bay. It was easy to lose themselves in the pleading call of Prince’s guitar. It made the love a lot easier.

A sudden burst of yellow light from the hallway streaks into the theatre, making Junmyeon and Amber turn their attention from the scene playing out in front of them.

Junmyeon can only just make out the tall silhouette that makes its way to a seat in the very front row. The person has long, long legs and a straight backed, fluid way of walking that fills Junmyeon with the aching tightness of memory.

_ Let’s go crazy! _

_ Let’s go nuts! _

Junmyeon watches as the person settles into their seat, their broad shoulders filling the width of the chair. The pang in his chest twists. But he’s over 600 miles away from that memory. He came this far to get away. And things like this don’t follow you so far up north.

Amber elbows him in the ribs.

“You watching the movie or watching some random dude?” she whispers at him. “I didn’t buy us tickets just for you to ignore the movie.”

Junmyeon directs his attention back to the movie, to the Kid and The Revolution on stage.

_ We’re all gonna die _

_ And when we do _

_ What’s it all for _

_ You better live now _

_ Before the grim reaper come knocking on your door. _

\---

“So, how’d it live up this time around?” Amber asks as they make their way out of the movie theatre. “Just as good?”

Junmyeon tosses the empty popcorn container as they pass a trash can. He shrugs. “About the same.”

“The songs hold up even if the movie doesn’t,” Amber says. “But now I’m pretty sure that I’m never going to stop telling you to ‘purify yourself in the waters of Minnetonka.’”  


Junmyeon just nods at Amber as they walk through the theatre’s front doors. The old glass doors slam behind them with a resounding _ bang. _

“You alright?” Amber asks, her voice softening. “You got really quiet on me all of a sudden.”

Junmyeon nods again. “I’m fine.” It’s stopped raining but the night is cold. Junmyeon can feel the quiet whisper of early autumn against his cheeks. “Just tired.” 

He doesn’t know how to tell her that every minute of the movie pulled him all the way south, tugging him a year back into the past.

Amber steps towards the curb in front of the theatre.

“I think I’m gonna take a cab home,” she says. “I don’t feel like taking the bus this late.” There’s a cab about two blocks down and Amber sticks one hand out into the road to hail it down. “You want to share?”

Junmyeon shakes his head. “No,” he says. “I’ll just take the bus.”

“Suit yourself.” The taxi pulls up and Amber gets in. “Call me when you get home!” 

“I will!” Junmyeon waves as the taxi pulls away and then sighs to himself, shoving both hands into the pockets of his coat. It’s only a short walk to the nearest bus stop, but he starts to second guess turning down Amber’s taxi offer. It’s well past ten o’clock and with the way that the buses run this late, he probably won’t make it home until nearly midnight. 

The loud _ bang _ of the theatre doors startles Junmyeon out of his thoughts and he turns around. 

And feels like he’s slipped a year into the past.

Somethings don’t make any sense. And other things don’t, can’t, shouldn’t exist in the same place.

He’s standing directly under the marquee, the flashing gold lights catching in the dull shine of his leather jacket. He looks the same as he did when Junmyeon had last seen him, framed by the lights of The Castro. Tall, dark haired, broad shouldered. His face as stern and serious as ever. He’s wearing a green and gray plaid flannel under his jacket and ripped black jeans. His hair is longer now, falling into his eyes in a way that it hadn’t since he was 19. It makes him look younger, smoothing the contours of his face.

And Junmyeon can’t help but stare.

He looks up and notices Junmyeon standing there, at the curb. He blinks in rapid succession, three times, like he can’t quite process what he’s seeing. Then he quirks an eyebrow upwards, looking Junmyeon straight in the eyes.

Junmyeon turns around abruptly and heads down the sidewalk. It’s not until he’s halfway down the block that he realizes that he’d gone in the opposite direction of the bus stop. Heart still racing, he steps up to the curb with his arm out. Looks like he’s taking a taxi home after all.

**September 4, 1991. Take Two.**

The blaring sound of the radio startles Junmyeon awake. 

_ Gooooood morning, Portland! It’s 7:15 on September 4, 1991! _

Junmyeon sits up in bed. _ Wait. What? _

_ Happy Wednesday! It’s another wet one out there, so grab your umbrellas and raincoats! _

_ What the fuck? _

He looks out the window. It’s raining. But it’s always raining. That doesn’t help. 

He gets out of bed anyways and goes about his morning routine. Still has cornflakes for breakfast. Showers. Shaves. Brushes his teeth. Gets dressed. Still picks out a blue button down, grey sweater, black slacks, brown shoes. Heads out the door and tries to shake the niggling feeling that he’s _ done this all before _. The bus comes at 8:30 on the dot. He pays the seventy-five cents. Gets on. 

It pulls up to his work stop. He walks the few blocks to his office. Takes the elevator up. 

He says hello to Nick and Angie as he makes his coffee. Nods in acknowledgment to Susan. He settles at his desk, boots up his Gateway modem. He checks the date in the bottom right-hand corner of his desktop screen.

**9/4/91**.

_ Now that’s just creepy. _

The code he’d been working on last night flickers to life in front of him, the complex strings of numbers and letters blinking at him in green. He scrolls through, looking over his work from last night.

Junmyeon’s stomach sinks to the floor.

None of it had saved. It cut off in the same spot where he’d found it yesterday--or today? Or in his dream last night? 

“What the _ fuck _,” he mutters under his breath. 

“Enjoying the rain yet, grumpy?” Junmyeon looks up over the lip of his cubicle wall. Amber is hanging over the edge, smirking down at him, her bangs hanging into her eyes.

“Oh, uh.” He pushes back from his desk. “Hi, Amber.”

“You ok?” Amber comes around to the cubicle’s entrance, leaning in the doorway. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost or something.”

_ You have no idea _. “I’m fine,” Junmyeon says. His voice wavers. “Just. . .having computer problems.”

“Same resetting issue that you’ve had all week?” Amber comes over and peers over his shoulder. “Damn. This looks complicated.”

“Yeah,” Junmyeon says, grateful that she took the bait. “Same problem. I don’t know how to fix it.”

“Well don’t look at me.” Amber puts her hands up in defense. “If you can’t figure it out, then no one can. You’re the resident computer genius.”

Junmyeon nods. “Yeah. . .I guess so.”

Amber studies him for a moment and then frowns. “You sure you’re ok?”

Junmyeon takes a deep breath and shakes his head again. “No, really,” he says. “I’m fine. Just tired.”

“Ok.” Amber leans against the side of his desk. “You still down for movie night tonight, then?”

“Movie night?”

“Duh,” Amber says, rolling her eyes. “It is Wednesday.”

_ Ok, this is definitely creepy. _ “What movie is it?” Junmyeon asks, carefully.

“_ Purple Rain _.” Junmyeon’s stomach twists violently. “It’s a one night only special.” Amber pouts at him. “Come on! I’ll buy the tickets if you buy the popcorn.” Amber pokes him in the ribs.

“Um. Yeah, ok,” Junmyeon says. “Alright.”

“Awesome.” Amber gets up to leave his office. “I’ll come get you at six,” she calls over her shoulder.

\---

Junmyeon spots the cinema marquee from three blocks away.

**NOW PLAYING**

**CHILD’S PLAY 3** 1:15 4:00 7:30

**DEAD AGAIN** 3:00 5:25 8:40 

**BEASTMASTER 2** 12:15 3:40 7:15 9:20

**TONIGHT ONLY!**

**PURPLE RAIN** 6:45

Amber buys their tickets and they head inside, the doors banging shut behind them.

“You ever see _ Purple Rain _?” Amber asks.

Junmyeon swallows hard. He nods, trying to not shout _ Yes! We went to this exact same movie yesterday! _ “Yeah.” He tries to keep his voice steady. “I saw it a few times. I first saw it on the night it came out.”

“I didn’t know were a Prince fan.” Amber looks at him through her bangs.

“Not exactly.”

Amber laughs out loud. “You have to be to see _ Purple Rain _ more than once. It’s kinda a shitty movie.”

They get in line for popcorn.

“I wouldn’t say that,” Junmyeon says as he orders and pays for a large popcorn. “It’s kind of just one extended music video.”

They go into theatre 6 and, like last time, it’s mostly empty. They sit in the back and sit in silence as they previews play in front of them.

The lights go down and the movie starts, The Kid’s silhouette, backlit in purple lights.

_ Dearly Beloved, we are gathered here today to get through this thing called life. _

The opening scene plays on and then: There’s the burst of light, streaking across the theatre.

This time, Junmyeon follows the shadow as it moves across the floor. The person who walks in is tall and lithe. His back is rimrod straight and he takes long quick steps as he heads down the aisle. _ It’s weird, _ Junmyeon decides. _ The things that you remember about a person _ . _ The parts of people that cling to your memory. _Junmyeon takes in the way that the man has his hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket and the way he ducks his head as he makes his way to an empty seat near the front. He takes it all in and feels like he’s been thrown a year back into the past. 

It’s funny. The things that follow you up north.

_ Oh no, let’s go! _

Amber nudges him in the ribs.

“Watch the movie, you asshole! I didn’t spend money on these tickets for nothing.”

Junmyeon nods at her and turns back to the screen, feeling both adrift and anchored in time.

\---

“I think I’m gonna take a cab home,” Amber says, once they walk to the curb. “I don’t feel like taking the bus this late.” 

Junmyeon looks down the block and points to the cab rounding the corner. He steps off the curb and sticks his left hand out, hailing it down for Amber.

“Thanks,” Amber says with a smile. “You want to share?”

Junmyeon shakes his head. “No,” he says. He glances over his shoulder, looking towards the theatre doors. “I’ll just take the bus home.”

“Suit yourself.” The taxi pulls up and Amber gets in. “Call me when you get home!” 

“I will!” Junmyeon waves as the taxi pulls away and then sighs to himself, shoving both hands into the pockets of his coat. 

There’s the loud _ bang _ of the theatre doors and Junmyeon lets his breath escape. The entire day has felt like an echo: every part of yesterday? today? a year before? worming its way into the present.  


He’s standing exactly where Junmyeon remembers him, directly under the marquee’s flashing gold of the lights. He looks the same as he did when Junmyeon last saw him yesterday (today? last time?). 

He catches Junmyeon’s eye and smiles at him, his entire face lifting with the upwards turn of his lips. This time, Junmyeon doesn’t look away. 

Instead, he walks back towards the theatre doors, his feet falling heavily against the damp concrete. 

“Well,” the man says, when Junmyeon comes closer. “Junmyeon.” His words make little puffs of white in the cold night but his voice is just warm enough, dancing with the dull bite of mischief that always made Junmyeon’s heart jump.

Junmyeon swallows hard. 

“Sehun,” he says, his voice wavering. He coughs, trying to clear his throat. “You’re in Portland?”

Sehun smiles. “Yeah,” he says, “Been up here about a month. Got a job up here. At Nike, in their accounting department.” He shoves his hands into the pockets of his well-worn leather jacket. “I’m actually out in Beaverton, but I saw in the newspaper that this theatre was playing _ Purple Rain _. So, you know. I had to see it.” Sehun’s eyes travel up and down Junmyeon’s body, taking him in. Junmyeon feels his body grow hot. “Rumor back in the Bay is that you headed up to Seattle. I guess that isn’t true.”

Junmyeon shakes his head. “I didn’t make it all the way to Seattle.”

“So you went to Portland instead?”

“Portland was the next best thing.” 

“But it’s not Seattle though.”

“It’s not Seattle,” Junmyeon agrees.

Sehun leans against the concrete support beam.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Sehun says. He exhales hard, the waver in his breath betraying his usual confidence as something more delicate. “But I honestly never thought I’d see you again.” His voice drops lower and words hang gently in the air between them. “Especially not all the way out here.”

_ I came up here to forget about you. _ Junmyeon swallows hard. 

“I wasn’t really sure that I’d see you again either,” Junmyeon says. He lets himself look at Sehun more closely, taking in the way that his face has sharpened in the past twelve months. There’s a new severity in the set of his lips, a new rigidity in the curves of his face. It suits him, in a way.

“But here we are,” Sehun says.

“Here we are.”

The rain starts up again and the two of them fall silent as they watch it fall. 

“What have you been doing up here all this time?” Sehun asks after a bit. 

“A lot of the same as I had been doing before,” Junmyeon replies. “I’m still a programmer. I work at a small company in Portland.”

“Are you happy?”

Junmyeon pauses. He feels his lips quiver and he fights to control them.

“I’m fine,” he replies. “Things are fine. I have a decent job, I’m making decent money. I have a pretty nice apartment. I can’t complain.” Even to himself, he doesn’t even sound convincing.

“That’s good,” Sehun says with a nod. His face is unreadable.

“What about you?” Junmyeon asks, almost desperately. “Are you happy?”

Sehun looks at him again, _ really _looks at him, staring him dead in the eyes. 

“I’m learning a lot about myself,” Sehun says. “Finally. It’s worth it.”

There’s a sharp screech and release as the bus rounds the corner, turning towards the stop.

“I’m catching the bus home,” Sehun says. “I gotta go get that.”

“Oh,” Junmyeon says. “Right.”

“Right.” Sehun looks at him one more time, his eyes sharp on Junmyeon’s face. “Take care, Junmyeon.” 

Sehun walks past him and then jogs into the darkness, reaching the bus stop right in time. Junmyeon watches as he gets on and pays his fare, and then works his way towards the back, finding a seat. Sehun glows under the bus’s harsh fluorescent lights. Junmyeon’s body aches. 

The bus pulls away and Junmyeon walks towards the curb.

Looks like he’s taking a taxi home after all.

\---

Junmyeon lays in bed that night, the comforter pulled up over his head. He feels cold and tired in a way that he hasn’t felt since he’d arrived in Portland. A deep tired. An aching exhaustion.

Leaving the Bay Area was supposed to mute him. Numb him down. Turn off all of his emotions and let his loneliness wash away with the rain. And it had worked, mostly. He’d done a good job, letting everything go. Letting his feelings melt away and chipping almost a decade of love and longing and letdowns from his soul. He let the empty space fill with cold rainwater, telling himself that it was easier this way. That this was the right decision. That he would be happier, that Sehun would be happier, that Sehun deserved better than what he could give him anyways. 

But now the fatigue was back, filling him with a throbbing nausea and an aching pain. The type of pain that hung on, clawing at his throat. Making him wish he could ask to start over. For another way to do it again, try again. It was the type of pain that made him want to believe in second chances.

But, he’s realized that second chances don’t really come around anymore. Not when he’s 28 and all his childhood friends are married and have kids or whatever. Not when 30 is right around the corner and, if he listens just closely enough, he can almost hear the death knell of his youth cutting through the sound of the pouring rain. Second chances don’t come this late. 28 is basically the end of the world.

The thing is, he’d moved, the day he’d turned 27, travelling up the coast, as high as his savings could take him. His bus fare ran out in Portland. He’d been hoping for Seattle, but what was Portland except for a smaller, more boring version of the city that he’d read so much about? Maybe there was no real music scene, but maybe that was for the best. It would remind him a little too much of Sehun if he’d been in the middle of Seattle, surrounded by the grunge scene and the trilling, distorted sounds of the Nirvana and Soundgarden. Sehun would have loved that a little too much.

And anyways, Junmyeon’s spent his life falling just short, so what’s one more _ almost _, really, in the grand scheme of things?

It’s been over a year since then. He’s 28. And 1991 feels like the end of the world. Estonia? Latvia? Lithuania? One of them or two of them or maybe all of them had left the Soviet Union the other day. It feels a million miles away but what is the U.S. without an enemy to yell on the other side of the world. Maybe this is the end of the maybe, kind of, sort of war. Maybe this is the end of the fear? Junmyeon laughs to himself at that one. It’s never the end of the fear. He’s built his entire life on existential dread, so what’s the fall of the Soviet Union going to change, really, in scheme his everyday angst.

He was supposed to be perfect. That’s what his parents said anyways. Perfect grades, perfect family. Perfect kid. Went to a perfect private school tucked away in the Oakland Hills, went to Cal, majored in computer science, did everything right. Almost. 

**September 4, 1991. Take Three.**

_ Gooooood morning, Portland! It’s 7:15 on September 4, 1991! Happy Wednesday! It’s another wet one out there, so grab your umbrellas and raincoats! _

Junmyeon pokes his head above the comforter. 

_ The high today is a cool 54 degrees so make sure to bundle up! There’s traffic heading into the city, a slight back up on the St. Johns Bridge so make sure to plan ahead! _

Junmyeon finds himself oddly at peace with this new reality. He turns off the radio and gets dressed for the day, going about his usual routine. 

It isn’t until he’s on the bus, watching the city whizz past, that he starts to think about his situation.

This is his third time reliving the same day, he figures. It’s not a dream, because even in the weirdest of situations, dreams don’t go on this long. And Junmyeon is sure he’s not asleep. Everything feels too real: the squeak of the bus’s breaks too loud in his ears, the honking of the other cars on the road, the cool wet kiss of the rain against his cheeks. 

And he remembers everything about the last two days (or the last two Wednesdays?). Clearly. Too clearly for them to have just been figments of his subconscious. 

So something must be going on here. He’s in some sort of time slip situation, maybe? He frowns to himself. Maybe not really a time slip. That makes him think of that story he read back in middle school. . .the one about the Yankee in King Arthur’s Court or something? That’s not the same thing that’s happening here. He’s still in his own time period, he’s just stuck repeating the same day. Like he’s stuck in a loop. 

The bus pulls up to his stop and he gets off, nodding to the driver on his way out.

He feels out of his depth. This feels like something plucked out of one of those sci-fi magazines that Sehun loves so much. 

Or maybe _ loved _so much? The Sehun that Junmyeon knows might as well be a ghost. It’s been that long.

But, he needs a second opinion.

He goes into his building, takes the elevator up. Says hi to his co-workers. Boots up his computer. Makes coffee. The code comes into focus again, the numbers blinking at him menacingly.

Its reset itself again.

He sighs and starts trying to correct the gaps.

“Enjoying the rain yet, grumpy?”

“Hi Amber,” Junmyeon says, without looking up. “Good to see you.”

“No smile?” Amber comes around to the cubicle’s entrance, leaning in the doorway. 

“Nope, don’t start with me.” 

“Whatever,” Amber says. “I just came by to see if you wanted to--”

“Yes, movies would be great,” Junmyeon says. “_ Purple Rain _ is playing tonight right?”

“Um, yeah.” Amber sounds taken aback.

“Saw it in the papers. I’ll meet you at six by the elevators so we can go together.” Junmyeon finally swivels around in his chair to face his friend. “But, do you want to get lunch today? I can go get us sandwiches from the place around the corner.”

Amber’s eyebrows shoot up. “Normally I’m the one who has to beg _ you _ to break for lunch. What’s happened to you? Are you sick?”

Junmyeon smiles. “Not sick,” he says. “Can you blame me for wanting to spend more time with you?”

Amber shrugs. “Guess I can’t. 12:30 in the break room?”

“Deal.” Junmyeon swivels around to face his computer again. 

“Make sure to get me a roast beef sandwich,” Amber says as she walks out of his cubicle.

“Whatever you want.”

\---

“Here you go.” Junmyeon places two wax paper wrapped sandwiches on the break room table. 

“What’d you get?” Amber asks.

“One roast-beef and cheddar for you, one turkey and provolone for me.”

She grins and starts unwrapping her lunch.

“Thanks, Junmyeon,” she says as she takes a bite. “It’s been so long since we’ve had lunch together like this.”

Junmyeon sits down across from her and unwraps his own sandwich.

“It has,” he says. “Sorry about that. I’ve been busy.”

Amber shrugs. “You’re always busy. I’ve long since learned to never rely on you for quality friendship time.”

Junmyeon grimaces. “I’m sorry. I’m a shit friend.”

“It’s whatever.” Amber doesn’t look angry. “Some friendships are like that. One person does more of the work. It doesn’t make you a bad friend or a bad person. I wanted to be your friend because you looked like you needed someone. I’m that someone. You set the terms of this relationship. I’m just here whenever you need me.”

Junmyeon doesn’t know what to say.

“I don’t deserve you.” He takes a big bite out of his sandwich.

“I know you don’t.” Amber laughs at him. “But it doesn’t matter to me as long as you never forget that fact.”

“Can I ask you a weird question?” Junmyeon says suddenly.

“I’m not going to stop you.”

“What do you know about time loops?” 

“Time loops?” Amber looks at him like he’s crazy. “Like that sci-fi shit?”

Junmyeon feels his face grow red. He knows how stupid he sounds.

“Yeah, like that sci-fi shit,” he parrots back. “What do you know about them?”

“Nothing really? I think I watched a short movie about them on TV last year or something?” She frowns as the puzzles it through. “_ 12:01 AM _ or _ PM _ or something. The dude got caught reliving the same hour of his life over and over again.”

“How’d he get out of it?” Junmyeon leans forward. “What’d he have to do?”

“I think he killed himself,” Amber says. 

Junmyeon winces. “Ok,” he starts again. “Well. What do you think someone would have to do to get out of a time loop?”

“Why the sudden interest in time loops?” Amber asks. “You been reading _ Asimov’s _?”

“Uhh,” Junmyeon fumbles his words. “Yes, actually. One of my friends from back home used to read sci fi mags all the time and I saw one at the newsstand the other day. So I picked it up.”

“Never really been my thing,” Amber says. She hums to herself. “But I guess. If I were stuck in a time loop, I guess it would be because the world was trying to tell me something. That something in my life was broken and there was something special about the time that I was stuck in. Like the repeating moment held the key to solving the problem?”

“So you’re saying that something is broken and I have to figure out what it is and fix it?” Amber raises her eyebrows at him. Junmyeon bites his lip. “Hypothetically, I mean.”

“I guess so? I mean, that makes sense to me.” Amber takes a bite out of her sandwich and chews thoughtfully. “Think about it. Back in school, if you failed a math test or something, your teacher would make you redo it, right? Until you figured out what mistakes you made and figured out how to fix them. The same thing makes sense here.”

Junmyeon nods. “I guess that does make sense.” And it does, the more that Junmyeon thinks about it. It’s almost like the universe is trying to teach him a lesson. If only he knew what the lesson was. “How do you think you’d be able to figure it all out?”

Amber shrugs. “I have no fucking idea. Look for context clues?” She gives Junmyeon a strange look. “Are you planning on writing a science fiction novel or something?” she says, teasing. “Is writing one of your mysterious hidden talents?”

Junmyeon ducks his head. “You caught me,” he says, grateful for the out. He takes a bite out of his sandwich.

“Just promise you’ll let me be the first to read it when you’re done,” Amber says, laughing.

“Deal,” Junmyeon mumbles through his mouth full of food.

Amber makes a face at him. “Gross.”

\---

Junmyeon doesn’t start to piece the clues together until the lights of the cinema’s marquee come into view.

“You ever see _ Purple Rain _?” Amber asks.

“Yeah,” Junmyeon says. “More than once.”

“You like it?”

Junmyeon hesitates. “I guess you could say that it holds a special place in my heart.”

They buy tickets and popcorn together and then go into the theatre. The movie starts just as it had yesterday, and the day before. Junmyeon sings along under his breath, mouthing the words to himself.

The next clue comes in the burst of yellow light when the theatre door opens and in the slinking, straight backed shadow that makes its way to a seat in the front. Instead of paying attention to the film, Junmyeon spends the next hour watching Sehun watch the movie.

\---

“I think I’m gonna take a cab home,” Amber says, once they walk to the curb. “I don’t feel like taking the bus this late.” 

Junmyeon looks down the block and points to the cab rounding the corner. He steps off the curb and sticks his left hand out, hailing it down for Amber.

“Thanks,” Amber says with a smile. “You want to share?”

Junmyeon shakes his head. “No,” he says. He glances over his shoulder, looking towards the theatre doors. “I’ll just take the bus home.” 

“Alright,” she says as the taxi pulls up the curb. “See you tomorrow.”

Amber waves at him through the window as the taxi pulls away. Junmyeon gives her a half hearted wave back. 

He exhales hard, watching his breath puff into a small, soft cloud in front of him. He glances at his watch. It’s well past ten. He takes another breath, and then holds it, waiting. It would make sense, he figures. If the thing that he needed to fix, the thing that he needed to pay attention to was Sehun. It’s been over a year--a year since he left the Bay, over a year since he said goodbye to everyone and everything he’d ever known, a year since he’d left a city and a state so saturated with the tears and failure and loss and fractured love. Over a year since he’d last seen Sehun, and left him hanging by the thread of unanswered questions.

There’s the bang of the theatre doors and Junmyeon turns around.

Sehun is still standing underneath the marquee, the gold and red lights glinting off of the black of his hair. Junmyeon meets his eye and Sehun quirks an eyebrow up at him.

“Hey!” Junmyeon calls out. He jogs back over to the entrance. “Sehun!”

“Junmyeon.” Sehun’s voice is steady, but there’s a flash in his eyes. “This is a surprise.”

Junmyeon nods. “It is,” he says, a bit breathlessly. “I, uh, wouldn’t have expected to see you. Here, I mean. In Portland.”

“I guess I could say the same about you.” Sehun reaches into his jacket pocket and takes out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He taps one out and brings it to his lips, lighting it. Junmyeon watches as his eyes slide shut as he inhales.

“You want one?” Sehun offers Junmyeon the pack. Junmyeon takes it, shaking out a cigarette. Sehun takes the lighter back out of his pocket and beckons for Junmyeon to lean in. Junmyeon leans closer and Sehun cups his hand around the cigarette, lighting it for him.

Junmyeon inhales, sucking the fragrant smoke into his lungs. It tastes the same. Still menthol.

“How have you been?” Sehun asks, after a moment. “I never thought I’d bump into you here.” He pauses, takes another drag on his cigarette. “Or ever again, to be honest.”

“I’m fine.” Junmyeon fiddles with the burning cigarette, weaving it between his fingers. “Busy. Working. You know.”

Sehun nods. “I guess I do. You were always dedicated to your job.”

Sehun’s words sting but Junmyeon just takes another drag off his cigarette to soothe the bite.

“I guess you’re right,” he says. “So I’m guessing that you’re not at the clinic anymore? Since you moved.” Junmyeon bites his tongue. Of course he’s not at the clinic any more. He’s not in the Bay anymore.

Sehun tilts his head and quirks his mouth to the side, shooting Junmyeon a bemused look. “I'm not at the clinic,” he says. “I quit right before I moved up here. I figured that it was time for a fresh start. To actually put my degree to use, you know?” He leans back against the concrete support beam and takes another drag off his cigarette. Junmyeon watches as Sehun closes his eyes on the inhale, his face serene like he’s really enjoying the rush of nicotine. His hair has fallen into his forehead, long and thick and black like night and this time, this third time, Junmyeon wants to run his fingers through it. Just like he used to.

But instead, he chuckles nervously and sticks his free hand in his jacket pocket. “Fair enough,” Junmyeon says. “I get wanting a fresh start.”

Sehun opens his eyes and looks at Junmyeon, _ really _ looks at him, his eyes travelling up and down Junmyeon’s body. Junmyeon feels like his entire body seizes up under attention and he looks away from Sehun, hoping that the other man can’t see how much of an effect he still has on him. Even now.

“I guess you would,” Sehun says, finally. “You moved away because that’s what you wanted, right? You wanted a fresh start?”

Junmyeon swallows around the lump that’s taken residence in his throat and nods. “In a way. After Halmeoni died, I. . .I didn’t know what to do.” _ And after you stopped answering my calls, I didn’t know who I was. _ “So I felt like I needed to start over. Try again.”

“Has it worked?” Sehun is still staring at him, his body long and imposing. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

Junmyeon gapes at Sehun for a moment, looks at the way that the lights of the cinema marquee catch in his hair and watches the careful way that Sehun watches him. He doesn’t know if he has an answer.

“I found some things,” Junmyeon says, sounding unsure even to his own ears. 

Sehun nods. He stubs out his cigarette on the concrete post and then drops it on the ground.

“It’s so weird to see you here,” Sehun says. He sounds so small. “I really never thought that I’d see you again.”

“Are you upset?” Junmyeon asks. “I mean, does it upset you to see me?”

“I don’t know.” Sehun hacks out a harsh laugh and then looks towards the sky. “It feels like I’ve dropped out of time. It feels like a sick type of deja vu.”

“I. . .” Junmyeon peters out. “I’m happy to see you,” he decides. “It’s been so long. It’s---it’s really good to see your face again. To see all of you again.”

“It’s been a year and a half,” Sehun murmurs. He bites his lip and then exhales harshly. “You look the same.”

“You do too.” But it’s not true, not really. Sehun looks years older, somehow. There's a new harsh cut of his mouth, hardened by sorrow. 

Sehun looks at his watch. “The bus is going to be here soon. So I should probably head over to the stop.”

Junmyeon nods. “Right.” He stubs out his own cigarette, dropping it on the ground next to where Sehun had discarded his own. 

They stand there for a moment, staring at each other. The rain picks up again, the drops falling loud and heavy against the sidewalk.

“I should--”

“Sehun,” Junmyeon interrupts. “Could I, um, do you--” he stops, takes a deep breath. “Do you want to stay in touch?” he starts again. “Since we’re both in the same city again and I’ve been living here for a while, so maybe, I could, um. Show you around some?” 

Sehun gapes at him and then, slowly, nods.

“Alright, then.”

“Give me your hand?” Junmyeon asks. 

Sehun steps in closer and then extends his left hand. Junmyeon reaches into his jacket pocket and takes out the felt tip pen that he’d left there about a month ago. He takes Sehun’s palm in his own and then quickly writes his phone number across the back of his hand. 

“Now you have my number,” Junmyeon says, letting go. “Uh, um. Call me at some point?”

Sehun nods. There’s the squeak of tires against the road and they both watch as the bus rounds the corner, pulling up to the stop. 

“I will,” Sehun says before taking off towards the bus stop in a sprint. Junmyeon watches him go, just making it in time for the bus to pull up. He watches as Sehun pays the fare and boards, and Junmyeon watches through the smudged windows as Sehun navigates his way to a seat in the back.

Maybe he’ll actually call. Maybe.  


**April 13, 1984**

He’d been perfect, almost. Until he’d drunk just enough wine on a night halfway through his junior year of college and decided to sit alone on the front steps of a frat house, leaving the party raging along inside. It’s nice outside, milder than most April nights, and Junmyeon tipped his head back towards the clear sky, breathing in the cool air. His body feels like the right type of loose, the wine having worked its way into his muscles. He can hear the soft thump of the bass of the music playing inside and the voices of people singing along to the chorus of _ Square Biz _. He opens his eyes and looks at the stars, faint pinpricks fighting to be seen against the city lights.

“You all alone out here?”

Junmyeon turns around. A boy is standing in the doorway. Junmyeon recognizes him from inside, where he’d spotted him dancing in the middle of the living room. From here, he seems so tall, his head almost reaching the top of the door frame. He’s wearing white Keds and black jeans that make his legs seem so, so long. His shirt is red and tight against his slim body and he has a black leather jacket slung over his left shoulder. 

“I guess I am,” Junmyeon replies. 

“Is there enough space for one more?”

Junmyeon scoots over towards the railing.

“Be my guest.”

The boy sits down, his knees folding in front of him. From up close, Junmyeon can make out all of his features. He has a round, stern face and serious eyes. His hair is just past the point of too long but he makes it work, parting it in the middle so that his black bangs hang artfully into his forehead.

He swings his jacket off his shoulder and roots around in the pockets, taking out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He taps a cigarette out and places it between his lips. Junmyeon watches as he cups one hand around the tip, lighting it with a flick of his lighter. He takes a long drag and then exhales, setting a long plume of smoke loose into the night. He holds the cigarette out to Junmyeon.

Junmyeon takes it from him and places the cigarette between his own lips, the filter damp from the other boy’s lips. He inhales, the cool taste of menthol coating his mouth. 

“Thanks,” Junmyeon says, handing the cigarette back. 

“Sure. I’m Sehun by the way.”

“Junmyeon.”

“I know,” Sehun replies. His voice is low and soft, just one octave above a murmur. He smiles at him, his eyes softening with a mischievous mirth. “You’re the TA for my Calculus class.”

Junmyeon blinks at him. “Oh!” he says, “I didn’t recognize you.”

Sehun shrugs. “There are like 200 people in that class. I’d be surprised if you _ did _ remember me.”

“Doesn’t mean that I can’t feel bad.”

Sehun takes another drag off his cigarette, his cheeks hollowing. “Feel as bad as you want,” he says, exhaling long and low. 

Sehun hands the cigarette back off to Junmyeon and leans back on his hands, staring up at the sky. His body looks so _ long _ like this, the muscles in his arms cording as they support his weight, his neck sloped and graceful in the low light.

“Do you usually come to frat parties to sit alone outside?” Sehun asks.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Junmyeon replies. “But no. I came here with some of my friends but I wanted some air. It’s too hot in there.”

“Then you know why I’m out here,” Sehun says. “I got too hot while dancing. I wanted to smoke in peace and cool off.” The sheen of sweat is still visible on the back of his neck, even out here in the dark. 

“I guessed as much,” Junmyeon says before he could stop himself. “I saw you. In there. Dancing I mean.” Junmyeon had watched him from the kitchen doorway, dancing with a group of sophomores in the middle of the living room. Sehun had thrust his arms up in the air, his shirt riding up just enough that a flat stripe of stomach was exposed. Even now, Junmyeon could see the hypnotic way that Sehun’s hips had ridden the beat. It was the type of thing that made you never want to look away, the type of thing that set a throbbing heat alight in Junmyeon’s stomach, the type of heat that he always tried to tamp down and shove away. Perfect doesn’t have space for fires like those.

Sehun’s face splits into a wide, wide smile, his eyes crinkling.

“You saw me?” Sehun repeats. “And you didn’t want to join?”

Junmyeon feels his face grow hot. “I’m a terrible dancer,” he says, his voice cracking.

Sehun chuckles, his eyes twinkling. “I can teach you.”

Junmyeon turns away and shakes his head. “I think I’m beyond hope.”

They’re quiet after that. A breeze cuts through the air, making Junmyeon shiver.

“You cold?” Sehun asks, noticing. He takes his leather jacket from where it’s folded on his lap and drapes it over Junmyeon’s shoulders. Junmyeon shivers again as he’s enveloped in warmth and the spicy smell of well worn leather and sweat, menthol cigarettes, and the hot spiciness of cologne. The heat in his stomach starts to simmer again and Junmyeon moves to take off the jacket, hoping that will extinguish the flame.

“No, I’m alright,” Junmyeon says.

“Keep it,” Sehun puts his hands over Junmyeon’s own, stopping his movements. “I’m too hot as it is.” Sehun’s hands are large and warm and Junmyeon freezes, the fire in his belly licking upwards to his throat. He nods instead.

Sehun drops his hands back to his own lap. Junmyeon slips his arms into the sleeves of the jacket. It’s way too big on him, the shoulders hanging around his own. Junmyeon almost feels like he was drowning.

“So you’re a sophomore?” Junmyeon asks, trying to regain his footing.

Sehun nods. “Yeah. More or less.”

“More or less?”

Sehun nods again. “I’m a sophomore but I’m younger than the rest of my class. I should technically be a freshman, but I skipped my senior year of high school.”

Junmyeon looks at Sehun again, taking in the boyish slope of his chin.

“So how old are you, then?” Junmyeon asks.

Sehun laughs again, one hand coming up to cover his mouth. “I turned 19 yesterday. I was born in ‘65.”

Junmyeon can’t help but laugh. “Yesterday? You’re a baby!”

“And how old are you then? 40?”

“I turn 22 next month,” Junmyeon takes another drag off the cigarette. He blows the smoke up towards the stars. It hangs there for a moment, like a soft gray cloud before dissipating into the night. “I’m only three years older than you.”

“But you’re, what? A junior?” Sehun furrows his brow, his face collapsing in wrinkles. “Shouldn’t you have graduated by now?”

Junmyeon shakes his head. “No. You’re a bit young for your year and I’m a bit old. I had to repeat second grade.”

“Repeated second grade and still at Cal,” Sehun says. “Miracles do happen.”

Junmyeon smiles. “I guess so. I was born in South Korea and my family moved to the Bay when I was seven. They enrolled me in school but I didn’t know any English so I had to redo everything.”

“Again,” Sehun says, his voice dancing with mischief. “Miracles do happen.” He reclaims the cigarette from Junmyeon and takes another drag. 

They fall silent again, staring up at the sky. Junmyeon can hear the party inside, the voices of one hundred college kids singing along to Madonna’s _ Holiday _. Sehun hums along beside him, tapping the beat out with his fingers on the concrete step.

“I’m from LA,” Sehun says after a moment. “Born, raised, and never left.”

“Until now,” Junmyeon offers.

“Until now,” Sehun agreeds. “Came up here for college.”

“Berkeley is a bit of a way to go just for college.” Junmyeon studies the way that Sehun lazily dangles the cigarette between his index and middle fingers, the butt glowing orange-red. “Why not just stay in LA? UCLA is a great school.”

Sehun brings the cigarette up to his lips, taking another puff. “Sometimes you just need to go north, you know?” He says.

_ I don’t _. Junmyeon wants to say back.

“Which one is better?” Junmyeon asks, instead. “LA or Berkeley?”

“San Francisco is better,” Sehun says without hesitation. “Not Berkeley. But San Francisco is the only place where I feel like I can be myself.”

“Be yourself?” Junmyeon asks. “What’s so special about San Francisco?”

Sehun quirks one perfect eyebrow up at Junmyeon. “I thought that you were supposed to be smart.” Sehun takes one final drag from the cigarette then stubs it out in the sliver of concrete between their bodies. “You grew up here, didn’t you?”

Junmyeon frowns at him and nods. “I did.”

“And aren’t you friends with Baekhyun?” Sehun turns his body slightly, so that he’s facing Junmyeon. His gaze is heavy on Junmyeon’s face, Sehun’s serious eyes weighing on him. 

Junmyeon nods again, his roommate’s relationship with Kyungsoo and the way that the two of them had pressed up against each other on the dance floor rising to mind.

“Oh,” he says. “You’re gay.”

Sehun lets out a loud laugh. “Very gay. Like Elton John levels. Except I never had a bisexual phase in the Seventies. I’ve never touched a girl, don’t ever want to touch a girl, don’t ever need to touch a girl. Like that level of gay.”

“Oh.” 

“_ Oh _,” Sehun says, mimicking Junmyeon in a high pitched voice. “And what about you? Straight as hell or more liberated?”

The heat in Junmyeon’s belly licks its way up to his lungs, setting his breath on fire. He exhales hard, trying it force it all out.

“I’m. . .not sure,” he says, in a small voice. Maybe it’s all the wine he’d had, maybe it’s something about the way that Sehun is so brash but the words come out. “I’m not. . .straight. I don’t think.”

“Well, let’s try this,” Sehun says. “You ever kissed a girl?”

Junmyeon nods. “Yeah. A few times.”

“Fucked a girl?”

Junmyeon jumps and feels his face grow red at Sehun’s bluntness. 

“No,” Junmyeon says. “I came close once, with my high school girlfriend, but it. It didn’t happen.” He can still remember being alone in bed with Irene, the two of them naked and the way that he couldn’t make it happen. How he’d tried and tried and tried but couldn’t get it up. He’d chalked it up to nerves and she’d been understanding, but their relationship hadn’t lasted much longer after that. Not when he could never bring himself to actually touch her. Not like that anyways.

Sehun frowns in concentration and then nods. “And boys? Ever kissed a boy?”

Junmyeon bites his lip and shook his head. “No,” he says, looking down at the concrete. “Never.”

“Ever thought about kissing a boy?”

_ So many times _ . Junmyeon wants to say. _ So many times _. He’d thought about kissing his high school English teacher, a man fresh out of college with long brown hair and warm smile who taught him about Shakespeare’s lyricism and Beat poetry. He’d thought about kissing Minho, the boy who lived across the street from him all through middle and high school. He’d thought about kissing Kris, the captain of the Cal basketball team, who had sat behind him in Programming I last semester. 

_ And you’ve been thinking about kissing Sehun too _ , whispers a deep part of his brain. _ All night. _

“Yes,” Junmyeon says, his words small in his mouth. 

Sehun leans in close, his face only a few inches from Junmyeon’s own. Junmyeon’s next breath gets caught in his throat.

“Sounds like you’re a bit more liberated,” Sehun whispers. He glances down at Junmyeon’s lips and then looks back into Junmyeon’s eyes. “What would you do if I kissed you right now?” 

Junmyeon inhales sharply. His heart is beating a million miles a second. “You want to kiss me?” He asks, at a loss of what else to say. 

  
Sehun grins. “I do. I saw you watching me inside and I followed you out here ‘cause I thought you might want me.” Sehun’s voice is light with laughter. “So,” he continues. “Junmyeon. What would you do if I kissed you?”

Junmyeon takes a deep breath. _ Well. What the fuck _.

“I’d kiss you back,” he replies, his voice dropping into his chest.

Sehun’s grin grows even larger. “That’s what I hoped.”

Sehun leans in then, closing the distance between their lips. 

Junmyeon’s eyes grow wide and then flutter shut. He parts his lips with a sigh. Sehun is a good kisser; he kisses like Junmyeon is the entire world, his lips soft and firm as they press against Junmyeon’s own. Sehun’s hand moves upwards to tangle in Junmyeon’s hair as he directs the kiss, guiding their heads together so he can slot their heads at just the right angle for him to slide his tongue into Junmyeon’s mouth. Sehun tastes sweet like beer and cool like menthol and warm like something that had to just be Sehun himself. Junmyeon curls his fingers over the too-long sleeves of Sehun’s jacket and whimpers in the back of his throat. Sehun’s tongue darts forward, swiping over the edges of Junmyeon’s teeth. It feels good. _ God, good, so good. _ Better than any other kiss Junmyeon had ever had. Sehun knows what he’s doing and Junmyeon loses control of the heat in his stomach, letting it unfurl throughout his body. He gasps into Sehun’s mouth and presses in closer, trying to share some of the fire with him.

Sehun hums into Junmyeon’s mouth and then breaks away, panting softly. He moves his lips to Junmyeon’s jaw, pressing quick open-mouthed kisses along his jawline. 

“Well, then,” Sehun whispers, drawing away. Junmyeon can feel the words against his lips. “Now you can say you’ve kissed a boy.”

Junmyeon nods, still dazed. It feels like Sehun’s kiss had taken all of Junmyeon’s words.

The song playing inside changes. Junmyeon can just make out the opening monologue of Prince’s 1999.

“Come on,” Sehun stands up, holding a hand out for Junmyeon. “I’ll teach you how to dance.”

Junmyeon takes his hand.

“Alright.”

**April 15, 1984**

Junmyeon watches as the students as they file into the lecture hall on Tuesday morning. He’s never really paid much attention to his students, and to be frank, they’ve never seemed to care much for him. They almost never come to the review sessions he holds on Thursday afternoons and, with the exception of a small handful of sophomore girls, they never hang back after class to ask questions. Junmyeon isn’t even sure that he even knows most of their names.

But today, he scans the faces of each person as they come through the doors, looking for the familiar curve of a jaw and a mischievous smile and he hopes.

“Alright, settle down,” Professor Simmons says. The class falls silent. “Happy Tuesday. Hope you all had good weekends. Make sure to grab your midterms from Junmyeon on your way out today.” He nods at Junmyeon who’s relegated to the TA desk off to the side. “Overall, I was pleased with your performances. The highest grade was a 98 percent and median grade was a 79 percent. You all seemed to have really grasped the concepts ---”

Junmyeon tunes Professor Simmons out, focusing instead on the captive audience of students, sitting the elevated rows of the lecture hall. He keeps searching, but there’s no sign of Sehun. Maybe he’s late? Junmyeon glances at the clock. 10:15. Class started twenty five minutes ago. It would be brash to still come to class this late. Junmyeon bites his lip and shakes his head. He’s being dumb.

He turns his attention back to Professor Simmons who’s scribbling on the chalkboard.

“Let’s get started,” he’s saying. “Last week, we left off on differential equations---”

Maybe he’s skipping? Junmyeon’s mind whispers. _ Or maybe he’s avoiding you _ . _ Maybe he doesn’t want to see you again. _

Junmyeon shakes his head and tries to banish the dark thoughts from his head. Sehun had left him on the dance floor with the ghost of a kiss lingering on Junmyeon’s lips as a promise for _ later _ . And for every moment for the past two days, Junmyeon has wanted nothing more than that _ later _.

“So please turn to page 384 in your books. The first equation---”

There’s a loud _ bang _ as the doors of the lecture hall swing open. Junmyeon looks up to see Sehun, hair haphazardly scraped back from his forehead, backpack slung over one shoulder, making his way to a seat.

“Mr. Oh,” Professor Simmons calls out. “Nice of you to join us. Hopefully you can get up to speed.”

“Sorry, Professor.” Sehun slides into an empty seat near the back. “I’ll make sure to ask Junmyeon about what we’ve covered after class.” Sehun finds Junmyeon’s eyes and holds his gaze, raising one perfect eyebrow playfully. 

“Good.” Professor Simmons turns back to the board. “Anyways--”

Sehun doesn’t break eye contact. He nods at Junmyeon and Junmyeon feels his entire face go red. He ducks his head hopes that no one else noticed. It’s hard to look at Sehun and not be flooded with the memory of heat and soft lips and arms and hands intertwined. Even now, he looks at Sehun and all he sees are their two bodies pressed together, Sehun’s warm hands on Junmyeon’s hips, guiding him along to the beat, their faces so close that Junmyeon can make out every dip and freckle on Sehun’s nose, their breaths--hot--and mingling in the minute of space between them.

Junmyeon takes a deep breath, trying to clear his head. He feels like a teenager again; stupid and blushing and nervous. All because Sehun looked at him.

This is ridiculous.

He looks back up and Sehun has his head down, scribbling away in his notebook. Even from his vantage point, all the way in the front, Junmyeon can see the way that Sehun’s hair has fallen into his eyes and damn if he doesn’t want to do anything else but brush the locks out of Sehun’s forehead.

Junmyeon takes another deep breath. _ Fuck _.

\---

“Don’t forget to pick up your tests!” Professor Simmons shouts over the burst of chatter as the students pack up to leave. “And remember that your problem sets are due tomorrow!”

“Here you go,” Junmyeon says as he hands a test to a blonde girl with a sky high perm. “You did really well, 85 percent.”

She smiles at him and then moves out of the way. 

“Next!” he calls out. He shuffles through the stack of tests on the desk in front of him. “Last name, please.”

“Oh.” Junmyeon looks up at the sound of a voice that’s echoed throughout his days every moment for the last three days. 

“Sehun,” Junmyeon looks up at him. Sehun gives him a tiny smile. “Give me one second.” Junmyeon flips through the stack to the Os: _ O’Connell, Olson, Ong-- _ “here you go,” he says, pulling Sehun’s test free. “98 percent.” Junmyeon swallows. “The highest grade.”

The corners of Sehun’s mouth twitch upwards. He takes the test from Junmyeon and folds it in half, tucking it in the back pocket of his jeans. 

“Give me your hand,” he says to Junmyeon.

“What?” Junmyeon frowns at him.

“Your hand,” Sehun says again. “Give it to me.”

Junmyeon places his left hand on the table and Sehun takes it in one of his own. His hand is warm and dry. Sehun picks up Junmyeon’s pen from where he left it on the table and draws Junmyeon’s hand closer and starts writing on his skin.

“There,” Sehun says, letting him go. “Now you have my number.”

Junmyeon stares down at the blocky numbers scrawled on the back of his left hand in black ink. The skin tingles.

“Why did you want me to have your number?” He asks him, his voice small.

“So you can help me catch up on what I missed today,” Sehun says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You’re the TA. That’s your job.”

“I--” Junmyeon glances at the line of students behind Sehun, some of them scowling at the hold up. “Ok. I’ll call you later tonight.”

Sehun grins at him and turns away. “I’ll be home at around eight,” he calls over his shoulder as he walks away.

Junmyeon stares after him, watching the roll of his hips as he walks away. It’s hard to look away.

“Um, Junmyeon?” The next student in line raps his knuckles on the table. Junmyeon looks up at him with a start. “Can I get my exam?”

“Yes!” Junmyeon starts flipping through the stack. “Sorry!”

\---

“Are you gonna use the phone or are you just gonna stand there staring at it?” Baekhyun glares at him from across their tiny living room. “‘Can you let me know ‘cause I’d really like to call my Kyungsoo at some point tonight but I can’t if you’re acting like you’ve forgotten how to use a basic piece of technology.”

“Shut up, Baekhyun. I’m. . .working on it.” Junmyeon stares at the phone again. He knows he’s being stupid. It’s just a phone call for fuck’s sake. 

“Working on it? How have you been working on making a phone call for almost half an hour, what is _ wrong _ with you?” Baekhyun sighs dramatically and plops down on the sofa next to him. His eyes narrow when he notices the back of Junmyeon’s hand. “What’s that?” Baekhyun pries Junmyeon’s right hand away from the receiver and holds it at eye level. “Whose number is this?”

Junmyeon snatches his hand out of Baekhyun’s grasp. “It’s nothing,” he mumbles. 

Baekhyun’s brow furrows in confusion and then Junmyeon watches as his face unfurls with understanding as it dawns on him.

“_ Oh _,” Baekhyun says. “It’s Sehun.”

“It’s not--he’s not--” Junmyeon takes a deep breath and then sighs. The problem is, Baekhyun already knows. He was there with him on Saturday night. He saw him dance with Sehun, he saw the way that he let Sehun draw him close in the dark security of the corner of the living room. He saw the way that Sehun kissed him, and Junmyeon knows that Baekhyun had seen the way that he had opened his mouth for Sehun and sighed at the heat that Sehun breathed into him. Baekhyun had seen it all but hadn’t brought it up before now, knowing in the way that he always knew, that this was something that Junmyeon needed to hold close before he shared it with anyone.

“It’s him,” Junmyeon says, instead. 

Baekhyun puts his hand on Junmyeon’s knee and squeezes gently. “Alright.” He gets up from the sofa. “I’ll be in my room. Just let me know when you’re done with the phone. Kyungsoo can wait.”

Junmyeon watches as he goes down the hall and then waits for the _ click _ of the bedroom door closing.

He takes a deep breath and picks up the receiver. He starts punching in the smudged numbers scrawled on the back of his hand.

“Hello?” Junmyeon freezes. There’s music playing in the background, a slow desperate crooning that sits like liquid in the cup of Junmyeon’s ear. Junmyeon closes his eyes and breathes in, like he’s trying to drink it down. 

“_ Hello _?” The voice says again.

“Um,” Junmyeon pauses. “Is, uh, is Sehun there?”

“_ Sehun? Oh yeah, he’s right here _.” There’s some rustling and then the rustle of the receiver being handed over.

“_ Yeah _?” Sehun’s voice floats in on top of the music.

“What’s that song?” Junmyeon blurts out. 

“_ What song _?”

“The one playing in the background.”

He can hear the smile in Sehun’s voice. “_ Why? Do you like it _?”

“I’ve never heard it before.”

“_ It’s by Prince. _”

“You like Prince?”

“_ Doesn’t everyone like Prince _ ?” Sehun laughs. “ _ But yeah. I like Prince. I really like Prince. But don’t tell me that you just called me to ask about my musical preferences. _”

“I didn’t,” Junmyeon says. “I called because you asked me to.”

“_ Not because you wanted to? I’m almost offended. _” Junmyeon can hear him smile through the phone.

“And because I wanted to,” Junmyeon corrects, quickly. “But you asked me to help you review what you missed in class today. And that’s my real job. So that’s more important.”

Sehun laughs out loud. “_ So I did. Ok. What if I asked you to come tutor me _?”

“Do you need tutoring, Sehun?” Junmyeon asks. “You got the highest grade on the test. And you have the highest grade in the class.” Junmyeon would know. He checked after class.

“_ Did you go check? Aww, Junmyeon, I’m flattered _.”

Junmyeon feels his face go red. 

“_ But anyways _ ,” Sehun continues, “ _ I need to catch up on everything I missed in class today. And you’re the TA. And like you said, it is your job even if I have the highest grade in the class. You wouldn’t want my grade to drop, now would you _?”

“No,” Junmyeon says. “I wouldn’t.”

“_ Exactly _ ,” Sehun says. “ _ Are you free tomorrow night? Like around this time? _”

“Um, I should be.” Junmyeon is. He has nothing going on on Wednesday nights.

“_ Cool. Do you want to meet at mine _?”

Junmyeon’s heart is thundering in his chest. “Ok.”

“_ I live off of Channing Way _ ,” Sehun says. “ _ Right after you turn off of the main street. It’s a duplex-- a purple house. My side is the one with the white door. It’s the first one on the street, you can’t miss it _.”

“Ok,” Junmyeon says. 

“_ So see you tomorrow at 8. And Junmyeon _?” Sehun says.

“Yeah.”

“_ I’m looking forward to seeing you again _.”

There’s a clatter as Sehun hangs up the receiver. Junmyeon holds the phone up to his ear until the dial tone kicks back in. He slowly drops it back into place and then exhales.

He’s looking forward to seeing Sehun again too.

**April 16, 1984**

The streetlights are just flickering on when Junmyeon rounds the corner to Sehun’s street. It doesn’t take him long to find the right house---Sehun was right, you really couldn’t miss it. He stares at the house for a moment, taking in the graying paint on the once-white shutters and the overgrown hedges and then takes a deep breath. He shoulders his backpack and then rings the doorbell.

There’s the thundering of feet behind the door and then it swings open. Sehun is leaning in the doorway, wearing a blue crewneck long sleeve with CAL emblazoned across the chest in bright yellow letters and gray sweatpants. His hair is damp, flopping into his eyes.

He smiles when he sees Junmyeon, the curves of his face softening.

“You came,” Sehun says, his voice edging with something that sounds just north of surprise. 

“I did,” Junmyeon replies. He looks at the way that Sehun stares at him with his eyes open and clear, his mouth curving upwards. “I hope it’s ok that I’m a little early? It didn’t take me as long to walk here as I thought it would.”

“No,” Sehun says. He steps aside to Junmyeon walk in. “I wasn’t doing anything anyways.”

Junmyeon goes inside and toes off his shoes, leaving them in the pile next to the door.

“This way,” Sehun says, tapping him lightly on the shoulder. They go down the hallway, passing the living room where Junmyeon can hear the opening chime of the _ Dynasty _ theme song playing from the TV.

“My housemates,” Sehun says, nodding in the direction of the living room. “They’re obsessed with _ Dynasty _ and they watch it together every week.”

“You don’t join them?” Junmyeon asks.

Sehun shakes his head as he leads them towards the kitchen. It’s small and sparse in the way most college group houses are. There’s a round wooden table shoved to one side with two notebooks and a pack of Newports stacked on top. Four mismatched chairs--some green, some white-- surround it. The countertops are narrow but neat; boxes of cereal--Cheerios, Smurf-Berry Crunch-- and cans lined up neatly against the backsplash.

“_ Dynasty _is too melodramatic for me,” Sehun says. He gestures towards the kitchen table. “Sit if you want?” 

Junmyeon sits down in one of the kitchen chairs and puts his backpack on the floor. 

“Do you want anything?” Sehun asks. He’s being more gentle, Junmyeon notices. His voice is more guarded, almost shy. It’s a far cry from the teasing on the phone last night.

Junmyeon watches the way that Sehun holds himself--his limbs close, his back straight--and he feels his heart jump. Sehun is just as nervous as he is.

“What do you have?” Junmyeon asks.

Sehun goes over to the fridge and opens the door, peering in. 

“Um. . .looks like water? Coke? Milk and orange juice, Capri-Sun?”

“I guess I’ll go with water, then,” Junmyeon says. “Thanks.”

Sehun grabs a water bottle and a Capri-Sun out of the fridge. He goes over to the pantry and snags a bag of Lays chips from the shelf and then plops them all on the kitchen table before sitting in the chair next to Junmyeon.

“Ok,” Sehun says. He drags one of the notebooks towards him. “Where do we start?”

Junmyeon reaches over and opens up the water bottle, taking a sip. 

“You missed the beginning of the recap on differentials in class yesterday,” he says. “We can start there?”

Sehun opens the bag of chips, eating a handful. He nods.

“Sure,” he says, swallowing.

Junmyeon reaches down into his backpack and pulls out the textbook, opening it up to the correct page.

“Ok,” he says. “So Professor Simmons started off with a review of partial differentials---”

Sehun pays close attention as Junmyeon walks through an overview of everything covered in the lecture, asking targeted questions along the way. He’s a good student, an attentive listener. It’s immediately obvious to Junmyeon that Sehun knows exactly what they’re going over. He nods along and draws connections to the other units in Calculus, even correcting Junmyeon when he skips a step in the problem they walk through. Junmyeon is almost convinced that Sehun knows more about differentials than he does.

“That it?” Sehun says, leaning back from the table. 

“That’s all you missed."

“Cool.” Sehun picks up his Capri-Sun and finishes it, the pouch contracting in on itself. 

Junmyeon looks down at the equations in the textbook, the color coded variables shouting up at him. They don’t say anything to each other, they just sit at the table, breathing their breaths. Junmyeon wants to move closer to him, wants to say _ something _, wants to ask Sehun why he asked him to come, wants to know if Sehun can’t get their kisses out of his head, wants to know if Saturday night is still playing on repeat in the back of his mind like the way it is for Junmyeon. Junmyeon wants to take Sehun’s hand and press their palms together, just to let the heat of their skin mingle together again. Junmyeon wants so much; he wants answers, he wants clarity, he wants to make sense of this giant swirling sandstorm inside his chest that seems to rage with the same rhythm of Sehun’s breaths. He wants to know the reality of what it meant to say yes to Sehun on Saturday night, he wants to know what it means that he said yes to him again yesterday. Junmyeon wants to know.

“Hey, Sehun why do you have the _ entire _ bag of Lays?”

Both Junmyeon and Sehun jump and turn in their chairs. Two guys around Sehun’s age are standing in the entryway. They’re both tall--the taller one Junmyeon vaguely recognizes from the posters of the basketball team posted in the campus gym, the other more compact.

“Were you eating them, Chanyeol?” Sehun asks. The fire and mischief have snuck their way back into his voice. He picks up the bag and hugs it close to his chest. “If you weren’t eating them and if Jongin wasn’t eating them, then why shouldn’t I eat them? Should I have just left them in the cabinet to get stale?”

“The _ problem _ ,” Chanyeol replies, “is that you’re eating _ the whole bag _.”

“Hi,” the shorter guy says, waving at Junmyeon. He has a kind smile. “I’m Jongin.”

Chanyeol stops glaring at Sehun and walks into the kitchen, going up to Junmyeon. He puts his hand out. “And I’m Chanyeol,” he says. His voice is warm and deep. Junmyeon takes his hand and shakes it. “I’m guessing that you’re the guy Sehun was on the phone with yesterday?”

“Junmyeon,” Junmyeon says. “And yeah, I guess that’s me.”

“Chanyeol and Jongin are my housemates,” Sehun clarifies. “And they’re also _ extremely _annoying,” he says through gritted teeth.

“I’m not annoying,” Jongin says. He goes over to the refrigerator and pulls out a can of Coke, cracking it open. “That’s all Chanyeol.”

“I resent that,” Chanyeol says. He comes over to the table and reaches over Sehun’s shoulder, grabbing a handful of chips. He goes over to the cabinet and reaches up to the top shelf, taking down a bag of rice. 

“I’m gonna make dinner,” he announces. “Do you all want some?”

“Depends on what you’re making,” Sehun says. 

“Well, rice.” Chanyeol holds up the bag. “And we have eggs and there’s a can of Spam in the pantry and some kimchi? So probably kimchi fried rice?”

“Then, yes.” Sehun looks at Junmyeon. “Have you eaten yet?”

“No,” Junmyeon says with a shake of his head. “I’d love some kimchi fried rice. I only ever get it when I go home.”

Jongin sits down in the other empty chair. He grabs the pack of cigarettes from where they’ve been shoved off to the side. He shakes one out and places it between his lips.

Sehun silently reaches into the pocket of his track pants and pulls out a lighter. Jongin leans forward and lets Sehun light the cigarette for him.

“Do you not cook much?” Jongin asks, exhaling a plume of smoke. He pries the bag of chips out of Sehun’s arms and helps himself.

“I can’t cook,” Junmyeon says mournfully. “It’s almost embarrassing how bad I am at it.”

“Jongin and I can’t cook either,” Sehun says. “Chanyeol is the only reason we haven’t died from malnutrition.”

Junmyeon laughs. “Yeah, it’s the same for me and Baekhyun. Kyungsoo comes over and cooks for Baekhyun most of the time and I just mooch off of that. Or my mom will make me stuff and I’ll bring it back with me.”

“Did you grow up nearby?” Chanyeol asks from where he’s washing rice at the sink.

“Yeah,” Junmyeon says. “In Oakland on Telegraph Avenue.”

“There’s a little Koreatown over there, right?” Jongin asks. There’s something really gentle about Jongin. He radiates kindness and his demeanor is open and warm. Junmyeon likes him already.

“Pretty much.” Junmyeon thinks about how easy it had been when he’d first moved to U.S. with his mother and grandmother to their little house on Telegraph. Everyone’s face had looked like his own, everyone still spoke Korean. For those first few weeks before he’d started school, it was like he’d never left their neighborhood in Seoul. “Most everyone on that stretch is Korean.”

Jongin nods. He takes another drag off the cigarette and then offers it to Sehun who places it between his lips. “Yeah, both Sehun and I are from K-Town down in LA. It’s the same sort of deal.” 

“You two knew each other growing up?” Junmyeon looks at the two of them.

Sehun shrugs. “We went to high school together. Same year and everything.”

“Until you decided to graduate early!” Jongin pouts and then reaches over and punches Sehun in the arm. “Abandoning me.”

“I needed to leave.” Sehun’s words grow heavy in their vowels. He pauses for a second, taking another drag off the cigarette, and then smiles. “And you followed me the second you could, so it’s not even like you had a chance to miss me.”

Jongin rolls his eyes and reclaims the cigarette. 

“Chanyeol, can you put music on or something?” Sehun calls over. “It’s weirdly quiet in here.”

“You could totally do it yourself you know,” Chanyeol grumbles as he goes over to the small boombox tucked in the corner. “It’s not like I’m making us dinner or anything.” He balances the bowl of eggs that he’d been beating on the corner of the counter and presses the play button with his toe.

There’s a crescendo of sound and then the song settles into the same slow groove that had played in the background while Junmyeon and Sehun had spoken on the phone last night.

“Jesus Christ, how many times are we gonna have to listen to this goddamn album,” Chanyeol whines. “Aren’t you sick of Prince yet?”

“Never,” Sehun says. “And if you hate it so much, then just switch to the radio.”

“Too much work,” Chanyeol says. He’s moved on to chopping green onions. “I’m busy.”

“This song is filthy though,” Jongin chimes in. “It leaves almost nothing to the imagination.”

“I _ like _it, ok?” Sehun sits back in his chair and crosses his arms. “Prince is a genius and he’s not afraid to take risks and you’re all complete prudes for condemning him.” He scowls but he shoots Junmyeon a nervous sideways glance.

“We know you like it, Sehun,” Chanyeol says. “But the bigger issue is that you’re making the rest of us sit here and listen to your sex music in a common area.”

The song _ is _ filthy, Junmyeon realizes now that he can hear all of the words clearly. Prince sings about tension and sex in his trademark falsetto, detailing exactly what he wants to do his lover. It’s a really beautiful song, Junmyeon thinks. It still grabs his attention in the same way that it had over the phone last night, and he wants to sink into it, to feel what Prince is begging for. His face grows hot and he presses his hands to his cheeks, trying to tamp down on his blush.

“You could just appreciate the song?” Sehun fires back.

Junmyeon listens as Sehun bickers with his housemates, laughing when Chanyeol and Sehun get in a loud shouting match about which Prince song is the best. Jongin rolls his eyes and leans in towards Junmyeon. 

“They do this all the time,” he whispers, conspiratorially. Jongin finishes off the cigarette and then stubs it out on Sehun’s deflated Capri-sun. “They’re both huge music snobs. Chanyeol plays, like, a thousand instruments and Sehun just has an opinion on everything.”

Junmyeon chuckles. “And what about you? Where do you fit in?”

Jongin graces him with one of his beautiful smiles. “I’m a dancer. So I think of music a little bit differently. Not as technically as Chanyeol. And I’m not a snob like Sehun so I don’t care about all the shit that he pays attention to.”

“I can hear you, you know,” Sehun cuts in.

Jongin laughs. “It’s not like I’m lying!”

Chanyeol comes over then and places bowls of kimchi fried rice and spoons in front of him and Jongin. 

“Eat,” he says.

“What about me?” Sehun demands.

“What about you?” Chanyeol says, winking at Junmyeon as he turns back to the kitchen to fill two more bowls.

Junmyeon takes a bite and is immediately overwhelmed with the taste of home.

“This is so good, Chanyeol,” he says. “It tastes just like something my grandma would make.”

Chanyeol smiles around the spoonful of rice in his mouth. “Thanks. My mom taught me and I get to practice on these goons.”

Jongin shoots him a dirty look and Chanyeol just laughs, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

The four of them finish their dinner and the kitchen is filled with the sounds of their laughter, Sehun and Chanyeol’s bickering, and Prince playing in the background. Junmyeon keeps sneaking glances over at Sehun, watching the way that he waves his hands around in indignation whenever Chanyeol says something he disagrees with and the way that his entire face changes when he laughs. 

He’s so beautiful.

Sehun catches him looking and he stares back, letting Junmyeon see the light dancing in his eyes.

Jongin glances at his watch. “Fuck, its late,” he says. “It’s almost 11:30.” He gets up from the table. “I have a 9 am class. I should go to bed.”

Chanyeol grimaces. “Shit, and I have basketball practice at 6:15.” He starts stacking the empty bowls.

“Is it that late already?” Junmyeon says, alarmed. “I should be getting home.” He stands up and starts collecting his notes, shoving them in his backpack.

“I can walk you to the door.” Sehun gets up from the table. 

“Thanks.” Junmyeon zips up his backpack. “It was really nice to meet you,” he says, nodding to Chanyeol and Jongin.

“You too!” Chanyeol says, grinning. “I bet we’ll be seeing you around?”

Junmyeon, for the thousandth time that night, blushes.

“I hope so,” he says. He means it. “Goodnight!”

“Goodnight!” Jongin calls after him.

Sehun leads him down the hall and back to the front door. He stands there awkwardly while Junmyeon laces up his sneakers.

“You gonna be ok getting home this late?” Sehun asks him once he’s straightened up. Sehun fidgets, placing his hands in the pockets of his pants and then crossing them over his chest, only to put them back in his pockets. He looks nervous.

“Yeah,” Junmyeon says carefully. “I don’t live all that far away. It’s a quick walk.” 

Sehun nods. “That’s good.”

“Yeah.”

Sehun looks over his shoulder, towards the kitchen, then steps in closer, until he and Junmyeon are breathing the same air. Surprised, Junmyeon takes a step backwards, his back pressing against the front door.

“Junmyeon.” Sehun’s voice is a whisper, filling the tiny space between them. His eyes are steady on Junmyeon’s face but his voice betrays him. His words wobble. “I--I. . .”

“You?” Junmyeon says softly. He looks into Sehun’s face, seeing the uncertainty painted there.

Sehun bites his lip and then exhales, hard. “I really want to kiss you,” he says. “I’ve wanted to kiss you all night.” He puts one hand on the side of Junmyeon’s face, gently cupping his cheek. Junmyeon closes his eyes and leans into the touch. Sehun’s palm is warm. “Would you let me kiss you?” Sehun asks. “If I kissed you now, what would you do?” 

“The same thing I did on Saturday,” Junmyeon murmurs. His heart is beating so fast. Sehun is so tall, and Junmyeon has to tilt his head upwards to look him in the eyes. “Kiss you back.”

Sehun’s smile is tiny but blinding. “Thank god.”

Sehun’s lips are soft. He hums against Junmyeon’s lips, singing into his mouth. Junmyeon sighs and opens his mouth for him, letting Sehun breathe him in. It’s different this time, without the taste of the night air mixing with their breaths, without the soft haze of alcohol clouding Junmyeon’s mind. Kissing Sehun makes sense. It feels like all of the questions that Junmyeon has carried in his heart finally have answers. Kissing Sehun feels like finding himself.

Sehun’s hands go to Junmyeon’s waist, pulling him closer, until their bodies are flush. Junmyeon gasps into his mouth as Sehun’s fingers slip under the hem of his sweater, stroking at his hip.Junmyeon wraps both arms around Sehun’s neck, pulling him further down. He wants this. He wants this so badly.

But, it doesn’t last. Sehun breaks away first, licking at his bottom lip. His face is flushed, the apples of his cheeks, tinting pink.

“God, I could do that forever,” Sehun whispers, the words ghosting over Junmyeon’s lips. 

Breathless, Junmyeon just nods. He leans into Sehun’s chest, feeling the rapid beating of Sehun’s heart patter through his shirt.

“I don’t know what I’m doing, Sehun,” Junmyeon mumbles into Sehun’s chest. “I’ve never done this before.”

“Do you want to do this now?” Sehun asks. His hands move up Junmyeon’s back, smoothing soft circles into his skin. Junmyeon shivers. 

“I think I do,” Junmyeon says. “But--” _ I’m afraid. I’m confused. _ “I’m not sure how. I don’t know where I’m going with you. It feels so _ complicated _.”

“It doesn’t have to be complicated,” Sehun says, “I can show you that it can be so simple.” He pulls back from Junmyeon, letting space grow between them. “Go out on a date with me.”

“A date?”

“Yeah.” Sehun looks at him, his eyes hopeful. “On Saturday?” He pauses. “Maybe?”

A thousand questions and a million worries blossom in Junmyeon’s mind. But he takes one more look at curve of Sehun’s mouth and just--

“Ok,” Junmyeon says. “A date.”

Sehun grins at him. “Perfect.”

**April 19, 1984**

“I am so sorry I’m late!” Junmyeon runs up to where Sehun is waiting for him at the top of the hill. Junmyeon is panting, his hair is mussed from his sprint over from the bus stop. “The bus showed up like fifteen minutes behind schedule and then BART wasn’t running regularly.” He feels bad for having left Sehun alone outside the venue, waiting for him to show up. Junmyeon had tried his best to leave on time--BART was always spotty on weekends and he knew it. But his grandmother had called early in the afternoon, asking him to stop by the house to fix the bathroom faucet that’d been leaking all week. He’d ended up trapped there all day, helping out around the house until it was half past five and he ran out, giving his mother and grandmother some bullshit excuse about having to tutor a student.

“Sounds like a typical day on Bay Area transportation,” Sehun says. He shrugs. “It’s no big deal. It doesn’t really start until 8 anyways.” Sehun hesitates and then comes in close, close enough that Junmyeon can smell the warmth of his skin. He puts his arms around Junmyeon, drawing him in and Junmyeon stiffens then melts into the embrace, leaning his face into Sehun’s broad chest. They part after what feels like only a flash of a moment. Sehun is grinning, his entire face lit up by the lights of the Castro, twinkling at the bottom of the hill. Junmyeon takes all of it in; taking in yellow and black stripes on Sehun’s shirt and the way that the colors play up the gold undertones in his skin, the inky blackness of his hair and how it curls at the nape of his neck, the way that his leather jacket hangs off of his wide shoulders, the way that his black jeans cling to his thighs. 

“You look really nice,” Junmyeon says, at a loss for what else to do or say.

Sehun smirks at him playfully. “Thanks,” he says. “I got you a present.”He takes a cassette case from the pocket of his leather jacket and hands it over.

Junmyeon squints at the writing on the title card tucked into the cover of the clear plastic casing. “”For You, Part One,” he reads aloud. ““Are you expecting to make a part 2?” he asks, looking up at Sehun. 

“Are you hoping that I don’t?” 

Junmyeon blushes. “No, I--that’s not what I meant.”

Sehun looks at him, bemused, and then shakes his head. “Then just accept it. Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth or whatever it is that they say. Some people would kill for one of my mixtapes.”

“Who are ‘some people’?”

“Most people. My mixtapes are legendary and I don’t give them out easily so consider yourself lucky.”

“Duly noted.” Junmyeon puts the cassette in his jacket pocket. “I’ll listen to it first thing when I get home.”

Sehun glances at his watch. “We should probably get going,” he says. “They start charging a cover at 8 and I don’t know about you, but I’m trying to avoid that at all costs.”

“Where exactly are we going?” Junmyeon asks as they set off down the hill.

Sehun grins at him. “You ever been rollerskating before?”

“A few times, I guess,” Junmyeon thinks back to long summer afternoons, struggling to stay upright on the second hand roller skates that a mother at Temple handed off to him when they no longer fit her son. “When I was a kid. We used to roller skate up and down the block during the summer.”

Sehun smiles and shakes his head. “That’s not what I mean.”

“Then what do you mean?” Junmyeon gives him a confused look.

“I mean have you ever gone to a roller rink before? Like a legit one with music and roller dancing.”

Junmyeon shakes his head. “No,” he says. “Never.” Some of the kids in middle and high school used to go on Saturday nights, but he never tagged along. He didn’t have time after all, not with helping out at the restaurant and his studies.

Sehun laughs and takes Junmyeon’s hand as they hit the main crush of the Castro. “Then this will be fun,” he says.

This is Junmyeon’s first real time in the Castro. He’s walked past it, sure, and he’s seen the giant art deco sign shouting out the neighborhood’s name more times than he can count. But he’s never ventured down the hill. 

Tonight, he sees it all up close. There are men holding hands with men, women with their arms wrapped around other women in ways that are so natural, so gentle, so _ intimate _ that Junmyeon wants to look away. There are people in dresses, in skirts, in bright red lipstick, in shock blue eye shadow, in heels, people that defy any of Junmyeon’s understandings of gender, all sharing space with him on the sidewalk. Rainbow flags flutter from the flag poles, daring anyone to challenge their claim on the wind. The storefronts broadcast every last one of Junmyeon’s wildest dreams and things well beyond his imagings: there’s a bookstore with a sign in the window that announces **GAY LITERATURE HERE ** to passersby, there’s a hotel with a rainbow flag in the window, there are posters strung up all over the light posts and on walls asking people to **STAY SAFE. THINK SMART. DON’T BE NEXT**.

“That’s where I work,” Sehun says, pointing at a nondescript yellow building across the street with the words _ Coalition Care Clinic _ written on the door.

“What is it?” Junmyeon asks. 

“It’s an AIDS clinic,” Sehun replies. “We help people who are sick and try to connect them with resources at hospitals or just try to be there for them when no one else will be.”

Junmyeon shivers, suddenly feeling cold. He’d heard about all of this, he’d have had to be completely oblivious to have not. It’s terrifying, scary in a way that makes his skin feel too tight.

“You come down to the city every day?” he asks.

“No,” Sehun says. “Just Thursday through Saturday. I’m only a volunteer.”

Junmyeon just nods. He doesn’t know what to say. Sehun, just squeezes his hand and pulls him closer.

They walk in silence for a while until they reach the end of the block.

“This place technically isn’t in the Castro,” Sehun explains as they turn a corner. “There’s not enough space for it here.”

Junmyeon sees the sign from halfway down the block. GRAVITY written in curling neon purple letters sit above the double doors of the old warehouse. There’s a short line leading up to the door where the bouncer is stationed, checking IDs.

Junmyeon follows Sehun up to the door.

“Hey Sehun,” the bouncer says as they reach the door. “It’s been a while.”

Sehun smiles and gives the man a hug. “Sorry, Donghae. I’ve been busy.”

The bouncer, Donghae, laughs and claps him on the back. “You’re always busy.” He looks at Junmyeon. “Who’s this?”

Sehun pulls Junmyeon forward. “This is my friend Junmyeon.”

Donghae smirks. “‘Friend,’” he says smugly. He gives Junmyeon a once over. “Sure, right.” He extends his hand to Junmyeon. “Well it’s nice to meet you, Junmyeon. Take good care of my Sehunnie, ok?”

Junmyeon takes his hand and shakes it. Donghae has a tight grip. “Nice to meet you too,” he replies. “I’ll try my best.”

Sehun laughs. “Stop terrorizing my date, Donghae.”

Donghae laughs out loud. “I knew he wasn’t just a friend.” He gives Junmyeon a menacing look. “Then you’d better take _ very _good care of Sehun.”

Sehun rolls his eyes and moves to walk through the door. “Shut up, Donghae.” 

Donghae keeps laughing but moves out of their way. “Have fun you two!”

Junmyeon follows Sehun inside. The space is larger than the outside lets on and the cavernous space is bathed in pink and purple lighting. The room is bisected by the bar where bartenders in purple polos bustle around, serving customers. Half of the room looks like a traditional bar with tables and booths with pink vinyl backed chairs. The skating rink takes up the other half of the room, the floor full of people dancing and skating underneath the glimmer of the disco ball turning in time to the beat of Earth Wind and Fire’s _ Let’s Groove _.

“Look at Chanyeol and Jongin,” Sehun says, pointing towards the rink. Jongin is dancing circles around Chanyeol, skating with a grace that Junmyeon hadn’t even known was possible. Chanyeol has a firm hold on the wooden support bar running the circumference of the rink and is laughing. “Chanyeol’s got it bad,” Sehun whispers under his breath.

“What do you mean?” Junmyeon asks.

Sehun shakes his head. “Drink first or skate first?” He asks instead.

Junmyeon grimaces. “Skate first,” he says. “I don’t trust my skating abilities the second that I have alcohol in my system.”

Sehun laughs. “Let’s go get our skates, then.”

They go over to the rental stall and trade in their sneakers for roller skates. After they both get laced in, Sehun holds out his hand.

“Let’s go.”

“I’m not going to be any good at this,” Junmyeon says as he staggers to his feet. “I can barely dance on my normal feet and you’re expecting me to dance on wheels?”

Sehun laughs. “Didn’t I teach you how to dance last weekend?” He skates in close, putting his hands on Junmyeon’s hips. “Just consider this as the next lesson.”

Junmyeon’s heart almost stops beating but he lets Sehun lead him to the rink.

“Easy,” Sehun says. He steadies Junmyeon with a hand on his hip. “Don’t want you to fall.”

“Oh, I am definitely going to fall,” Junmyeon grumbles. “This is not going to be me at my best.”

Sehun links their hands together and laughs. “I’ll take you at your worst over nothing at all.”

Junmyeon’s insides turn into jello.

“What’s up, everybody?” The DJ shouts out over the music. A loud cheer rises up from the rink and the DJ scratches the vinyls on the turntable once, twice. “I know you all know this one!”

The Safety Dance starts playing to another loud scream from the crowd and the rink becomes a blur, bodies racing around Junmyeon, moving to the beat.

As it turns out, Sehun is a very, very good roller skater. Not only does he skate so effortlessly that he might as well just be walking, but he is somehow capable of actually _ dancing _ while skating, turning and moving to the beat of each song. 

On their third go around the rink, Junmyeon finally starts to feel like he’s getting the hang of it. He grips Sehun’s hand in his own, their fingers tangling together, and Junmyeon finally feels like he’s keeping his balance. Sehun turns, and takes Junmyeon’s other hand, so that he’s skating backwards, pulling Junmyeon along. Junmyeon looks into Sehun’s face, sees the way the glitter of the disco ball twinkles across his face. The whole rink feels safe, the type of safe that Junmyeon had never dared dream about, the type of safe that let him feel alive, feel capable, feel _ possible _. Every expression and type of love whirls around them in a chorus that Junmyeon never thought he’d be lucky enough to hear. 

“Having fun?” Sehun whispers in his ear.

Junmyeon tilts his head up and winds his arms around Sehun’s neck, pulling him down into a kiss. Their lips brush against each other in a short soft press. Sehun draws back with a smile.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he says. “And as much as I like kissing you, I feel like skating and kissing is a recipe for disaster.”

They make a few more trips around the rink, passing Chanyeol and Jongin who are skate-dancing in a group of people that Junmyeon doesn’t recognize. When they skate past them the fourth time, they call out to Sehun, begging for him to join them.

“You should go,” Junmyeon says, pushing Sehun gently. 

“I can’t just abandon you.” Sehun waves his friends off. “What type of date would that make me?”

“A kind one,” Junmyeon says. “My legs are killing me. I’m gonna go take a break by the bar. You can keep skating if you want.”

Sehun glances over at Jongin. “You sure?”

“Positive.” Junmyeon kisses him again and then carefully glides himself in the direction of the bar, his arms outstretched in a childish attempt to maintain balance, confidence gone without Sehun to help him stay upright. He almost makes it, too, until a leggy blond in red sequin daisy dukes, cuts him off, causing him to lose balance. He flails around until two strong arms wrap around his middle, righting him.

“Whoa there, stay upright please,” Chanyeol says as he helps Junmyeon regain his balance. Junmyeon blushes and then skates the last six inches towards the bar. 

“Thanks, Chanyeol,” he says, once he has a firm grip on the linoleum covered ledge. “I’m no good at this.”

“You seemed to be doing just fine.” Chanyeol comes up next to him. “At least, you seemed to be doing fine when you had Sehun holding on to you.”

Junmyeon isn’t sure if he can go any redder. “Sehun makes it look easy.”

Chanyeol laughs, his face splitting into a wide smile. “Sehun makes almost everything look easy.”

They both hoist themselves up onto the purple plastic topped barstools. Junmyeon’s feet don’t even touch the floor.

The bartender comes over, a man around Sehun’s height with David Hasselhoff hair. He’s wearing a tight purple t-shirt with _ GRAVITY _ emblazoned across his chest in baby blue lettering. 

“What can I get you guys?” he asks, a huge smile on his face.

“I’ll have a Coors,” Junmyeon says.

“Make it two,” Chanyeol says. 

The bartender winks at them. “Sure thing.” He disappears for a moment and then returns with two gold cans, placing them on the bar in front of Junmyeon and Chanyeol. “That’ll be $5.50 total.”

Junmyeon makes a motion for his wallet but Chanyeol shushes him. “I got this.”

“You sure?” Junmyeon says, surprised. 

“Yeah, no worries.” Chanyeol pulls out a ten-dollar bill, telling the bartender to keep the change. The bartender smiles and winks at them again before wandering off to serve other customers.

“Thanks.” Junmyeon cracks open his beer and takes a sip. It’s cold and he relishes the way it feels as it moves down his throat, cooling him down. They stand there in silence, sipping at their beers slowly. Junmyeon watches as the DJs swap out, and a woman with jheri curl and in a bright green leotard and black fishnets takes over the turntable. There’s a quick break in the music as she cues up the next record, then the sound of a shrill horn cuts through the room. An exuberant cry rises from the rink as the driving bassline takes over. Junmyeon watches in awe as people dance as they glide around the circumference of the rink; some jumping and spinning on their wheels.

“How the hell do they do that?” Junmyeon says in awe.

“Talent,” Chanyeol says, dejectedly. “Lots of talent and probably a lot of practice. But probably more talent than anything.” He sighs. “I’ve been rollerskating for years but I could never do that. I’m an awful dancer.”

Junmyeon snorts into his beer. “You’re telling me. I’m fucking hopeless.”

Chanyeol nudges him with his elbow. “Hey, you’re no more hopeless than I am. I’ve had Jongin try to teach me to dance for _ years _ and I’ve made no progress. We can’t all be Jongin and Sehun. Some people just have talents in different places.”

Junmyeon laughs and looks up at Chanyeol who’s smiling down at him.

“So what’s your talent, Chanyeol?”

Chanyeol takes a sip of his beer. “Oh, I dunno,” he muses. “Music, probably. Or maybe basketball. And I’m good at a lot of weird shit, like I’m really good with my hands. I can fix almost anything. I’m really good with cars.”

Junmyeon raises his eyebrows. “I’m jealous. You probably save so much money on tune-ups.”

Chanyeol laughs. “I guess I do.” He takes another long drink from his beer. “What about you? What are your non-dance related talents?”

Junmyeon shrugs. “I’m not really good at anything, honestly.” He thinks about all of his years spent studying, all of the time buried in his textbooks and staring out of his bedroom window wishing for something more. 

“Oh stop shitting,” Chanyeol says. “Aren’t you the TA for Sehun’s calculus class? You must be good at math, at least. Sehun says that you’re a fucking genius.”

Junmyeon scoffs. “Sehun is miles smarter than I am, and he knows it too.”

“That’s not the way he tells it.” Chanyeol nudges him again. “You should hear him. He’s been talking about how smart you are for ages.”

Junmyeon looks up at Chanyeol. “Ages?”

“Oh hell yeah.” Chanyeol winks at him. “Sehun went to one of your review sessions once or something and then came home talking up a storm about how smart and _ cute _ the TA for his Calculus class was.”

“Now you’re shitting.” Junmyeon feels his face grow hot. He wraps both hands around his beer can, the condensation cool against his palm.

“Nope.” Chanyeol grins at him. “He’s had a huge crush on you forever.”

“I--I don’t know what to do with that information.” And Junmyeon doesn’t. Not really. He’s never really been wanted like this before. He’s only ever yearned for someone else from afar, through rain spattered late night windows, cloaked in darkness’s cover. 

“Well,” Chanyeol says, “what do you want to do with it?”

Junmyeon looks out onto the skating rink to where Sehun and Jongin are dancing together, both of their bodies fluid and graceful, both of their faces lit up with a careless freedom. 

“I want to try this with him,” Junmyeon decides. “I want to give this my best shot. If he’ll let me.”

Chanyeol nods. “He’ll let you,” he says. “Sehun might not seem like it at first, but he has a huge heart and once he makes up his mind, he gives it out really easily.”

“And you think he’s made up his mind on me?”

“Looks like it,” Chanyeol says. “He stayed up all night making you a mixtape. He doesn’t do that for people he’s not sure about.”

Junmyeon takes a sip of his beer and looks back out onto the rink. Sehun catches his eye and waves and smiles.

Junmyeon has never seen anything so beautiful.

Chanyeol catches him staring. “You seem to really like him.”

Junmyeon bites his lip. “I guess I do. But it’s all happening so fast? I feel like I barely know him.”

Chanyeol laughs. “Things sometimes move really quickly with us.”

“Us?”

“You know.” Chanyeol shrugs. “Us gays. Time seems like it moves differently for us.”

“You’re gay too?” 

Chanyeol howls with laughter, attracting the attention of the two girls sitting next to them. “Hell yeah,” he says, once he’s calmed down. “Why else do you think I’m here? It’s fucking Gay Night at Gravity. It’s all queers here tonight.”

Junmyeon flushes red. “Fair point.” He takes another sip of beer.

“And besides,” Chanyeol adds, “That’s why I know Sehun. He wrote to the campus Gay Alliance before he started at Cal, asking about housing. I wrote him back, telling him that there was space in the attic of my house since one of my housemates had graduated and moved out. He’s been kinda like a little brother ever since.”

Junmyeon nods. “My housemate is in the Gay Alliance, too. Do you know Baekhyun Byun?”

Chanyeol graces him with another huge smile. “Fuck, Baekhyun is your housemate? He’s fucking _ insane _.”

Junmyeon grimaces. “Baekhyun can be a handful, sometimes.”

Chanyeol laughs. “Baekhyun and I really similar. We get along really well.”

Junmyeon catalogues everything that he’s learned about Chanyeol from their two conversations and he can see the places where Chanyeol and Baekhyun overlap. They both have huge personalities but are easy to talk to with loud, warm laughs. Junmyeon feels comfortable with Chanyeol, comfortable in the same way that Baekhyun always makes him feel.

“I can see the similarities,” Junmyeon says.

“The only things different about me and Baekhyun is the fact that I’m like half a foot taller than him and the fact that he has someone to love,” Chanyeol lifts his beer can up to his lips.

“Are you seeing anyone then?”

Chanyeol shakes his head but Junmyeon notices the way his gaze drifts to where Jongin is laughing with Sehun. “No,” Chanyeol says, his gaze lingering on Jongin’s face. Jongin notices him staring and he starts to skate over to them, Sehun following behind him. “I’m as single as they come.”

Sehun and Jongin come over and Sehun slings an arm around Junmyeon’s shoulders.

“Chanyeol, are you scaring Junmyeon away?” 

“Not at all,” Chanyeol says. “Just trying to make sure that he’s good enough for you, Sehunnie.”

“So what’s the verdict?” Jongin asks. He snags Chanyeol’s beer and drains it while Chanyeol squawks in protest.

“He seems like a good one,” Chanyeol says. “You’re buying me another one, for the record.”

“There was almost nothing left in it!”

“That is so not the point, it’s the _ principle! _”

“Wanna skate one more song with me?” Sehun whispers into Junmyeon’s ear, making him shiver.

“Alright.” Junmyeon eases himself back onto his skates. He takes Sehun’s hand and lets him lead him back onto the rink.

\---

Junmyeon switches on his bedside lamp. He’s only just gotten home from his date and he can still feel the sure grip of Sehun’s hand in his own. He feels light. His heart feels like the warmest spring day.

Junmyeon strips down to his boxers and then digs around in his bedside table until his hand closes around his walkman. He detangles his headphones and opens the cassette player. It’s empty. It’s been a long time since he’d last listened to anything on his own. He reaches down to where his jeans are discarded on the floor and pulls out the cassette tape that Sehun had handed him earlier, taking the black plastic tape out of the case, inadvertently pulling the liner page out in the process. It falls into his lap and Junmyeon notices that there’s writing on the back. He picks it up and recognizes Sehun’s blocky handwriting.

_ For You. Part 1. _

  1. Do Me, Baby - Prince
  2. Stuck on You - Lionel Ritchie
  3. Love Is A Battlefield - Pat Benatar
  4. For You - Prince

_ Junmyeon, _

_ Hope you like this. Took me a while to decide which songs to include, it’s never taken me this long to make a mixtape for someone. I feel like. . .there’s so much that I want to share with you. And I’ve only just met you? I don’t know. Jongin always says that I tend to get ahead of myself. Maybe that’s what I’m doing right now and if I am, well shit. At least you maybe got a good mixtape out of it. _

_ \-- Sehun _

Junmyeon smiles to himself and then pops the cassette into the player. He pulls the headphones over his ears and switches off the light before sliding under the covers. Then he presses play.

The same song from Wednesday and Thursday night fills his ears, the crashing crescendo of sensuality washing over him. Maybe Sehun has a point about Prince.

**September 5, 1991, Take One.**

Junmyeon wakes up to the sound of his phone ringing. He fumbles around on his bedside table until his fingers close around his phone’s receiver. 

“. . .hello?” he mumbles into the phone, his voice still thick with sleep. He runs a hand across his face, trying to rub the lingering fatigue out of his eyes.

“_ Junmyeon _?” Sehun’s voice comes across the line, muffled and uncertain.

“Yeah?” Junmyeon sits up in bed, his whole body jolting fully awake. “I mean, yeah, hey.”

“_ It’s Sehun _.”

“I know,” Junmyeon says. He’s gripping the receiver so tightly, like he’s afraid that if he lets go, Sehun’s voice will disappear. 

“_ So you didn’t forget the sound of my voice, I guess. _” Junmyeon can hear the whisper of Sehun’s old mischief dancing along with his words. 

“I haven’t.” Junmyeon glances at the clock on his bedside table. The red numbers glow in the early morning light. 7:13 am. “You actually called me,” Junmyeon says, almost in disbelief. “I didn’t think that you would.”

“_ You gave me your number _ ,” Sehun says, like it’s that simple. “ _ So of course I called. Sorry for calling you so early in the morning though. I figured that I should try to catch you before you went off to work _.”

_ Wait. _ Junmyeon blinks, realization dawning on him. _ If Sehun is calling me, then that means that I gave him my number last night which means that--- _

“Sehun,” Junmyeon says, suddenly. “What day is it?”

“_ What day is it _ ?” Sehun repeats, confused. “ _ It’s Thursday _?”

Relief washes over Junmyeon like the first rays of the early morning light. 

As if on cue, his radio alarm goes off.

_ Goooooooooddddd morning, Portland! _

_ It’s 7:15 on Thursday, September 5, 1991. It’s a cool 64 degrees out there today and, of course, rainy. So pack those umbrellas and settle in for another wet and beautiful day in the Rose City! _

“It _ is _ Thursday,” Junmyeon murmurs, quietly as he reaches over to switch off the radio.

“_ What’d you say _?” 

“Nothing,” Junmyeon says. “Just the radio.”

“_ Oh _.” There’s the distinctive click of a lighter and an inhale. Sehun is smoking, Junmyeon realizes. Sehun only smokes on the phone when he’s nervous. At least, that’s how he used to be. Junmyeon’s not really sure what Sehun does when he’s nervous now.

“_ Listen _ ,” Sehun says. _ “I just wanted to let you know that I’m. . .glad that I bumped into you last night. And I. . .wanted to know if I could take you up on your offer. I wanted to know if you could-- _”

“Show you around?” Junmyeon finishes for him. 

There’s a beat of quiet and Junmyeon can hear Sehun take another drag off of his cigarette. 

“_ Yeah _,” Sehun says finally, quietly. 

“Yeah,” Junmyeon says. “I can do that.” 

“_ Great _,” Sehun says.

There’s another awkward beat of silence. Junmyeon takes a deep breath.

“What time do you get off work?” Junmyeon asks, in a rush. His palm is sweaty where it wraps around the receiver. “We could meet up after work some time this week.”

“_ I get off at five _,” Sehun says.

“I’m done at six,” Junmyeon replies. “That probably works best, since it might take you a little while to come down from Beaverton. You know. With the bus and all.”

“_ I have a car, _ ” Sehun says. “ _ I don’t like driving much, but it’ll be faster than the bus _.”

“Oh.” Junmyeon bites his lip. “Yeah. It will be much faster.”

“_ But it will still take me about an hour to drive to the city _ .” Sehun says. _ “But it’s better than whatever detour the bus would take me on. Where do you want to meet _?”

“Um,” Junmyeon racks his brain. He doesn’t go out often. He wouldn’t really go out at all if it weren’t for Amber dragging him out of the office a few times a week to “air him out” because he’s, as she calls it, “too young to go stale.”

“There’s a little dive bar on the border of Chinatown,” Junmyeon says. “It’s called _ Auto _. Maybe we can go there at some point this weekend?”

“_ This weekend _ ?” Sehun asks. “ _ Why not today _?”

“Today? So soon?” _ You want to see me that badly? _

“_ Are you doing anything after work tonight _?” Sehun asks the question like he already knows the answer.

“No,” Junmyeon says. “I’m not.”

“_ Then why don’t we meet tonight? At like 6:30 _?”

“Um, yeah,” Junmyeon says, surprised. “Sure, that works for me.”

“_ Ok _ .” Sehun sounds lighter, his voice sailing over their connection. “ _ I’ll see you then _?”

“Yes,” Junmyeon says. “Definitely.”

There’s a _ click _ as Sehun hangs up the phone. 

Junmyeon listens to the patter of the rain against the roof. His bones are shaking, uncertain of what the rest of the day will bring, and while he’d rather not admit it, he’s _ afraid _ to see Sehun again, one-on-one. But still, he feels relieved. He’s finally cracked the loop. All along, Sehun was the key.

In a way, some things never change. 

He gets out of bed.

Eats breakfast; cornflakes this time. Showers, shaves. Gets dressed. He spends longer than usual rifling through the choices in closet, taking uncharacteristic care selecting his outfit. He settles on dark blue slacks and an emerald colored sweater that Amber always says makes his eyes pop. Whatever that means. He shrugs on his raincoat and rushes out the door, just in time to catch the 8:30 bus.

The ride to work goes by quickly and Junmyeon finds himself sitting at his desk, computer flickering to life, before 9:15. The code fills in on his screen. All of his work from yesterday has saved.

Junmyeon takes a sip of his coffee and gets to work. 

The rest of the day flows smoothly. He works through another section of the code, takes lunch at 12:30 with Amber, goes to a two-hour long meeting with the design team at 2, and then spends the rest of the day wrapping up his coding. 

At 5:12, Amber comes by his cubicle.

“Hey, you,” she says, leaning in the entryway. “You headed out soon?”

Junmyeon turns in chair, facing his friend. 

“I’m gonna hang on a little longer,” he says. He tugs at his shirt collar. It feels too tight and he’s felt hot ever since the clock had hit 5 pm. “I want to look this code over one more time.”

“I can wait for you,” Amber offers. “I might go grab a drink down the street. I’ll look less pathetic if I don’t go alone.”

Junmyeon shakes his head. “No thanks,” he says. “I, um. I have plans. I’m meeting someone at 6:30. At Auto.”

Amber’s eyebrows shoot up. “You? Are meeting someone? Has the earth broken?”

Junmyeon flushes and turns back around to face his computer.

“It’s nothing special,” he says, focusing on the lines of code in front of him. “He’s just an old friend from home. Bumped into him after the movie last night. Thought it might be nice to catch up, you know?” He hopes his voice doesn’t give him away. 

“Sounds fun,” Amber says. “Look at you. Deciding on your own to hang out with people. And talking about people from your secret California life? Between _ you _ asking _ me _ to eat lunch together yesterday and this, I’d almost say that you’re a completely different person.”

“Fuck off, Amber,” Junmyeon says, sighing. 

Amber just laughs in response. 

“Whatever, grumpy,” she says. “I’ll go see if Sue wants to get a drink with me. I want a full report on your friend reunion tomorrow though. As penance for you abandoning me tonight.”

“Deal,” Junmyeon says. He hears Amber leave. 

He wiggles the mouse around on the screen. Clicks the save function a few times. He glances at the time. 5:17. He takes a deep breath. Only 45 more minutes to go. He can do this.

He can do this.

\---

Junmyeon is just taking the first sip of his beer when he feels a warm hand on his shoulder.

“Hey,” Sehun says, sliding on to the bar stool next to him. “Took a while to find parking. Didn’t mean to keep you waiting.”

“It’s no big deal,” Junmyeon says. “I only just got here.” 

“Still,” Sehun says. He reaches into the front pocket of his shirt and takes out his cigarettes, setting them on the bartop. He takes one out and lights it with the book of matches left out on the bar. “I feel bad,” he says with an exhale of a plume of smoke. He places both elbows on the bartop, resting his head in his left hand as he holds his cigarette with his right. He stares straight ahead, as if he’s eyeing the liquor selection behind the bar. He doesn’t make eye contact with Junmyeon.

“Don’t,” Junmyeon says. He watches Sehun’s profile as he smokes. He’s still in his work clothes; wearing a dark blue button down, slightly wrinkled from the day. He’s rolled both sleeves up to his elbows and Junmyeon can see the toned strength in his forearms. 

The bar is fuller than Junmyeon would have thought for 6:30 on a Thursday. All of the booths are filled, groups of people, fresh from work, sitting in the high back red vinyl bank seats. There are a good number of people sitting at the bar, too, flanking Sehun and Junmyeon on both sides. They’re playing music in the background, Axel Rose’s shrill crooning weaving through the chatter. The bartenders look busy, running back and forth, filling orders and closing tabs. One finally loops her way to Junmyeon and Sehun, taking Sehun’s order.

“What can I get you?” she asks, wiping her hands on her apron. 

“Vodka soda,” Sehun says, “with ice please.”

“You got it.” She disappears to the liquor shelf.

“I didn’t know you liked vodka,” Junmyeon says. “You used to always avoid it.”

“I didn’t like vodka,” Sehun agrees in a plume of smoke. “But it’s kind of grown on me now.”

The bartender comes back and places the drink in front of Sehun. He thanks her with a toast of his glass.

He takes a sip, his eyes sliding shut as he swallows. Junmyeon tries his best to not let his eyes linger.

“So.” Junmyeon says. “How are you liking Portland? Do you like it much?”

Sehun opens his eyes and rests his half burnt cigarette on the crowded ashtray on the bar. 

“No,” Sehun says, bluntly. “I don’t really like it here.”

Junmyeon winces. “Why not?”

“Do _ you _ like it here?” Sehun challenges.

“I mean--” Junmyeon thinks about it. He’s never thought about his time in Portland in terms of his own happiness. Happiness was never part of the consideration. He just wanted to get away. After feeling so much, he had come to Portland to try to feel nothing. To numb himself. “I’m not unhappy. I don’t dislike it.”

“But you don’t love it,” Sehun confirms. “It doesn’t really feel like home, does it?”

Junmyeon glances out the window. It’s still raining--the sky and the concrete are the same shade of dirty gray, everything rippled and warped through the never-ending sheet of rain. It doesn’t have the depth of color or the bursts of light that always break through even the rainiest of days back in the Bay. No, this type of rain is cold and unrelenting in its constant drizzle, never as wild or as heavy as the rains back home but, instead, damp in a soft hesitance that fills Junmyeon with unease.

“Not really,” Junmyeon says, turning back to Sehun. “It’s not home. But it feels like something different. Like somewhere that I’m still getting to know.”

“Do you like what you’re seeing, then?” Sehun presses. “Do you really think that Portland is a place worth knowing?”

“It might be.” Junmyeon watches the tiny curl of smoke work its way up from the butt of Sehun’s cigarette. “I don’t know if I’ve really gotten to know it yet.”

Sehun nods. He takes a sip of his drink. The song playing changes over, switching to R.E.M. Junmyeon recognizes it immediately--Amber had been obsessed with it a few months back, always humming it throughout the office. When she’d finally played it for him, the first thought that had popped into Junmyeon’s head was that it sounded like a song that Sehun would love. And, now, it seems like he was right. Sehun is humming along tapping the beat out against the side of his glass.

“It doesn’t feel like home to me either,” Sehun says after a moment. “I don’t know anyone here. And Portland is so much smaller than Oakland or Berkeley or San Francisco but it feels so empty. I feel so alone out here.” His expression is unreadable, Sehun’s face closed off in that way that it would always get whenever Sehun was trying to suppress his emotions. 

“Do you like living alone?” Sehun asks. “Are you lonely?”

“How did you know that I live alone?”

Sehun graces Junmyeon with a small smirk. “Call it an educated guess.”

Junmyeon feels his face grow hot. “I. . .don’t know,” he answers. “It’s quieter than I thought it would be. Quieter than I like, I think. And I don’t like. . .” he trails off.

“Don’t like what?”

“I don’t like waking up alone.” Junmyeon takes another swig of his beer, hoping that the cold liquid will cool down his burning insides. “And I don’t like coming home to an empty house. It’s the first time that I’ve ever had to do that. It’s eerie, not having someone around.” Walking through his front door at the end of every day feels like going down into silent and still catacombs.

Sehun nods, picking up his nearly burnt out cigarette and taking one final puff. He grinds it out in the ashtray.

“I really never thought that you’d leave the Bay.” Junmyeon says. He picks at the label on his beer bottle. “It always seemed like you’d made it your home. It’s like you fit there.” And it’s true. Those last few months. . .it had felt like Sehun’s voice had mixed in with the early morning fog, carried over from the Bay, shrouding Junmyeon’s entire world in the gray memory of the person he loved. 

“I never really thought that I’d leave, either.” Sehun takes a sip of his drink. “But things changed, I guess.”

“What changed?” 

“Chanyeol and Jongin left last year, did you know that?” Sehun asks. Junmyeon shakes his head. “They moved to New York City. Chanyeol got a great job--they both did actually. Jongin is going to be dancing with an ensemble out there. Chanyeol got a job working at a production studio, making music for films. And then. . .” he pauses. Junmyeon can see the way his fingers tremble where they close around the width of his glass. “Everyone at the clinic. I just. . . I couldn’t take it anymore. I felt like I’d lost so much. I didn’t think I could still give them what they needed most when inside I felt like I’d shattered to pieces. I didn’t feel like I had a family any more. I didn’t feel like I had anything left to share.”

Junmyeon succeeds at ripping half the label off, the paper mushy and damp between his fingers.

“And plus,” Sehun continues, voice clear and steady over the bar’s din, “everything in the Bay reminded me of you.”

Junmyeon’s throat suddenly feels so dry and he brings his beer up to his lips, downing it all. 

“Isn’t it weird?” Sehun says. “That we ran away from each other but somehow, after a year, we still ended up in the same random city?” He laughs once, harsh and tight. “It’s like universe is playing a fucking trick on me.” He doesn’t make eye contact with Junmyeon, choosing instead to stare out at the street. The sun has finally set and the streetlights are just flickering on, their glow reflecting against the damp sidewalk in small golden halos.

Junmyeon doesn’t know what to say. He watches as Sehun gulps down the last of his vodka soda and then as he takes another cigarette out of his pack, lighting it. He hands the pack to Junmyeon. It almost feels like an offering.

“Thanks.” Junmyeon shakes one out, bringing it to his lips and then lighting it with the discarded matchbook. The rush of nicotine races through his veins, calming the bubbling discomfort in his throat. He exhales, letting the cloud of tobacco scented smoke raise up like a ghostly screen between the two of them.

“Where do we go from here, Junmyeon?” Sehun says, looking at him through the smoke’s haze. “What are we to each other now? We’re in a new city, it’s been over a year since I’ve last seen you. What type of people are we to each other now that we’ve been through that storm? What type of men are we to ourselves, now?”

“I don’t know,” Junmyeon breathes out. The words taste sour on his tongue. “I don’t know what any of this means anymore.”

“Well, then what do you want?” Sehun says, almost pleading. A stray lock of hair has fallen into his forehead and it takes everything that Junmyeon has to not reach up and brush it back into place. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want us to be friends,” Junmyeon says. “You’re here, six hundred miles from the place we met.” _ From the place where I left you _, Junmyeon wants to say. “Against all odds. You said it yourself--it’s like the universe was trying to get us to this place. Together. So who are we to fight all of that? Who are we to fight the cosmos, really?”

Sehun is silent. He goes back to staring out of the window, smoking his cigarette, a stern look on his face. Junmyeon doesn’t know what to say so he smokes, too. The rain is still falling. Tom Petty’s voice croons in the background.

“Friends,” Sehun murmurs. He stubs out his cigarette. “Friends.”

“Maybe, we could try?” Junmyeon says, more hopefully than he intends.

“No.” The word falls from Sehun’s lips with the heavy certainty of the Bay Area’s rains. It washes over Junmyeon in a flood. “It’s not that easy.”

“Why can’t it be?” Junmyeon asks. He wants it to be this easy. Even after all this time, he still wants Sehun. He still yearns for him in every way, so strongly, so painfully that even being here, sitting so close to him with the distance of a year and a half in between them burns like hell. 

“Because---” Sehun breaks off. “Because you were my everything, Junmyeon. You can’t just go from being my everything to disappearing into thin air and then ask to be a casual acquaintance. It doesn’t fucking _ work _ like that.” Anger drips down into Sehun’s voice. “For a little while, we all thought that you’d gotten married and run off, you know that? Chanyeol and Jongin and I all thought that you’d finally caved to your mother and done what she wanted. Baekhyun’s convinced that you’d died, that you’d fucking offed yourself or something. That’s how complete your disappearance was. And it _ hurt _, Junmyeon.” Sehun looks at him dead on, showing Junmyeon all of the misery floating in his eyes. “After we fought, you just moved out like that and then we didn’t speak. Then your grandma died and you just fucking disappeared. I felt like I was going to go insane. You were just gone.” Sehun scoffs. “So no. We can’t just be friends like that. Because even now, even in this boring, tiny wet-ass city, it still hurts like hell to see you. I’m sitting here, trying to tell myself that it was a good idea to call you. That it was worth it to try to have a normal drink with you like I don’t still love you. Even after all this time.”

Sehun stands up. He reaches into his pants pocket and pulls out a five dollar bill, dropping it on the bartop.

“I have to go,” he says. “See you, maybe.”

Junmyeon watches as he hurries out the door. Sehun doesn’t put his jacket on when he steps out into the rain.

**January 17, 1979**

Junmyeon’s life is the answer to a question a generation in the making.

_ Stability. _

_ Safety. _

That’s what his umma said when she told him to pack up his things. _ We’re going to America. We’re going to start over. _

And it made sense, then. Even at seven years old, Junmyeon knew that things had changed. Ever since Haraboeji had died last year, things had gotten hard. The corner store was struggling--Umma and Halmeoni working long hours to try to keep it afloat but dinners had gotten smaller and the house had run cold last winter when they’d run out of money for briquettes. 

And then there had been all the shouting and the stomping and the screaming in the streets, people chanting hot, angry words, their voices thundering past as Junmyeon watched through the storefront windows. 

So it made sense. When Junmyeon’s clothes were packed into the old black suitcase, when Umma and Halmeoni boarded up the empty shop. When they paid the cab driver in the last of the winter kimchi and four bags of rice to drive the three of them to the airport. When they got on the plane, its wings gleaming and silver like the quickest of fish, and flew through the skies, Junmyeon’s face pressed against the windows, staring out at the white kingdom of the clouds.

_ Stability _ , Umma had said once they landed in San Francisco, the air cold and thick and gray, _ safety. _

Halmeoni had taken his tiny hand in her own, her grip strong and firm. She nodded at Umma. 

_ Yes _ , she’d said. _ This means stability. This means safety. _ She looked down at Junmyeon, giving him a tight smile. _ You are our stability. You’re our safety _.

And they’d done everything to make it so. They’d moved into a tiny house right off of Telegraph Avenue, its roof a warm red, its walls a soft peach. His mother and grandmother worked hard, doing the only thing they knew how to do--opening a tiny restaurant around the corner, selling not the Korean food that Junmyeon knew and loved, but Americanized Chinese food: deep fried gloopy orange chicken, fried rice, chow mein. When Junmyeon asked his mother about it, asked why there was no kimchi, so little garlic, his mother shook her head and reminded him: _ safety, stability _.

They sent Junmyeon to school, listening to the whispers of concerned mothers at Temple, and through complex machinations, getting him admitted to the “better” schools further down Telegraph in Berkeley. _ Work hard _ , his mother and grandmother whispered to him, _ we’re doing it all for you. For your safety, for your stability. _ And so Junmyeon tried his hardest, and then tried even harder when they held him back for his jumbled English. He sailed through junior high and then won himself a spot and a full scholarship at one of the fancy prep schools tucked away in the Oakland Hills, where he kept his head down and worked his way towards straight As in between shifts at his family restaurant. Because he had to. Because of _ safety _ . Because of _ stability _ . Because he owed it to his Umma and Halmeoni. Because he’d left a part of himself, a different person, an inquisitive child, behind; dropping him in the middle of that cloud kingdom in the sky to float on with his dreams. Because even then, thousands of miles above the ground, Junmyeon already knew that his mother and grandmother had packed up their lives on the strength of their faith in a single question. _ Could they make it in America? _ He knew that they were putting their faith in themselves, but probably even more, they were putting their faith in him, for him to be the answer to that question. Because of _ safety _ , because of _ stability _. 

But now it’s two in the morning and Junmyeon is kneeling on his bed, peering out of his window, looking out across the street. It’s raining tonight, the winter rains in full swing, painting the street in a watery veil. His corner of the neighborhood is silent, only the patter of the rain drops and the dulled sound of cars on the main street seeping in through the thin-paned glass. He watches the road, waiting. Waiting. 

There’s a flash of headlights and then the green Gremlin rounds the corner, its engine grumbling as it pulls in front of the small white house across the street. Junmyeon inhales softly as the engine cuts out and then the doors of the car swing open, Minho climbing out, his long hair tumbling to his shoulders, his mouth open wide with laughter. His boyfriend, Kibum, follows him coming out of the driver-side door and then coming up behind him wrapping two arms around Minho’s middle. Junmyeon feels his chest grow tight as Kibum pulls Minho close, burying his face in the gulf between Minho’s shoulder blades. They seem oblivious to the rain, letting the water soak through their clothes, running down their necks. Junmyeon imagines the way the rain must feel cold against their skin, he imagines the way that their bodies, pressed so tight, probably keep each other warm. Minho keeps laughing and spins in Kibum’s arms, wrapping his arms around Kibum’s neck and drawing his face in close (_ close, close, closer _) for a kiss. Junmyeon gasps as they make out, Minho pushing Kibum backwards until they’re pressed against the side of the car, their two bodies yielding and melding in the dim late night.

Junmyeon bites his lip and then sinks down from the window, laying down on his back. He stares at the ceiling, breathing slowly. In. Out. In. Out. He hopes that each rush of oxygen will cool his blood. He closes his eyes and bites his lip.

He feels nauseous. He shouldn’t feel this way, he _can’t_ feel this way, not when he has Irene who waits for him at his locker after the last bell rings everyday and who always greets him with a gentle, rose scented kiss on the cheek. Not when he’s trying hard, so _hard_, to feel this same surge of electricity in his stomach when the two of them are alone in her basement, reruns of _The_ _Mary Tyler Moore Show_ turned up loud, and he’s kissing her full on the mouth, one hand up her skirt, trying his hardest to feel something, _anything_. To get himself to feel _even one _of the sparks racing up and down his skin right now.

Junmyeon has tried. His hardest, and then some.

But still all that follows him into his dreams is the idea of another man’s hands on his waist, strong and sure. All that sees when he closes his eyes is a face, beautiful and angular like Minho’s, closing in on his own. All he finds himself asking for when he lets his mind wander is love that looks and sounds like the kiss playing out across the street.

But.

Junmyeon is the amen to his grandmother’s prayer. He’s the answer to his mother’s question. He’s their safety. He’s their stability. 

But thoughts like this, _ desires _ like these, aren’t safe. They aren’t stable.

Maybe he’ll never actually be safe. Maybe he’ll never be stable.  


**September 4, 1991, Take Four.**

_ Gooooood morning, Portland! It’s 7:15 on September 4, 1991! Happy Wednesday! It’s another wet one out there, so grab your umbrellas and raincoats! _

“FUCK,” Junmyeon shouts so loudly that he’s sure that his neighbors can hear him. “FUCK THIS.”

He lays in bed longer than he should, staring up at the ceiling. He can hear the quiet patter of the rain against his window. He replays last night in his mind; the way Sehun’s face had iced over, like the coldest winter night, the way that Sehun’s fingers had curled over and pressed into the stained wood of the bartop and the short, hard way that Sehun had whispered _ see you, maybe _ as he walked away. 

He doesn’t want to do this again. He can’t keep living this day over and over again. Not when he knows what’s waiting for him at the end. Not when he knows that he knows what’s at the end. Not when he knows that everything just fades out with Sehun standing under the theatre lights. Not when he knows that Sehun will just walk away from him.

And that’s the truly fucked part, isn’t it? That he and Sehun can wind up in the same city after their story had come to a crushing end and that, somehow, the earth had corrected its rotation four times just to get Junmyeon to fix his year-old mistake. And that Junmyeon still can’t seem to get it right.

He groans and rolls over in bed, burying his face in his pillow. He wants to give up. Just tell time that there’s nothing else that he can do, that no matter how many chances he gets, he’s still going to find some way to fuck it all up. He’s still going to find someway to hurt the person he loves.

And he does love Sehun, still. Junmyeon’s love for Sehun had come rushing back the second he’d seen Sehun’s silhouette standing under the theatre’s lights. If the past few days have done anything, they’ve dredged the very bottom of Junmyeon’s heart, reaching down to the lake bed of his soul where he’d tried his hardest to bury his longing. But if Sehun has always been good at anything, it’s been at unearthing every last one of Junmyeon’s hardest truths. Even a year apart couldn’t change that.

The radio is still playing in the background, the traffic broadcast switching over to music. They’re playing an old song by The Cure, one that Sehun had been obsessed with when it had first been released, recording it off the radio and then playing it ad nauseum throughout their apartment. Even now, Junmyeon still knows all the words.

_ Daylight licked me into shape _

_ I must have been asleep for days _

_ And moving lips to breathe her name _

There’s a tightness in his chest and roughness in his throat, like he’s swallowed a lungful of cold ocean water. Junmyeon sits up in bed, trying to quell the raging storm of his sadness. He lets his feet hit the cold floor and he shivers, looking out the window at the gray, rainy morning.

_ I opened up my eyes _

_ And found myself alone, alone, alone above a raging sea _

_ That stole the only girl I loved and drowned her deep inside of me. _

He stands up. And he starts again.

\---

“I think I’m gonna take a cab home,” Amber says, after they step out of the movie theatre that night. “I don’t feel like taking the bus this late.” There’s a cab about two blocks down and Amber sticks one hand out into the road to hail it down. “You want to share?”

Junmyeon chances a glance over his shoulder, looking towards the movie theatre’s main entrance. Sehun is just pushing through the doors. Junmyeon looks away quickly.

“Yeah,” he says to Amber. “Let’s do it.”

A yellow cab pulls up along the curb. They both get in the back seat. 

They drive away. Junmyeon doesn’t look back.

**April 21, 1985**

Junmyeon lays on his back, staring up at Sehun’s ceiling. It’s late on a Friday night, probably inching towards midnight. Junmyeon had come over after a shift at the restaurant, wanting nothing more than to see Sehun. They’d hadn’t had much time together all week; they’d both been busy with midterms, Sehun had been busy at the clinic, and Junmyeon had been busy with the restaurant. Sehun is sitting next to him, cross legged, flipping through one of his sci-fi magazines. 

The radio is on and tuned to the campus station. Whoever is DJ-ing for the night settled on dreamy British new wave, playing songs that sound like they’re travelling through time and space just to reach them. Sehun is tapping the beat out on the folded over spine of his magazine. 

“I like that one,” Junmyeon says, when the song fades out in a distorted haze. “It’s . . .kinda astral.”

“Astral?” Sehun snickers at him. “That’s a word you don’t hear very often.”

“Don’t be mad because my vocabulary is bigger than yours.” Junmyeon rolls over onto his side, propping himself with one hand to look up at Sehun. “What’s that song called?” he asks. “I know you know.”

“It’s by the Cure,” Sehun says. “It’s called ‘Charlotte Sometimes.’”

“See?” Junmyeon says. “You can’t make fun of me for knowing big words when you know the name of every song in existence.”

Sehun puts his magazine to the side and lays down next to him. “Do you feel neglected?” he asks, “Is that why you won’t let me read in peace?”

“Neglected?” Junmyeon makes a face at his boyfriend. “Me? Never.” He leans over and kisses him on the cheek. “No, but seriously, I’m fine. I’m just glad we got to spend some time together tonight. It feels like an eternity since I last saw you.”

Sehun grins at him. “It does.” They both lay down after that, Junmyeon tucking himself under Sehun’s arm, pillowing his head on Sehun’s broad chest.

“I’m glad that you’re here,” Sehun says, quietly. He runs his fingers through Junmyeon’s hair, making him shiver. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too.” And Junmyeon has, so much. Sometimes it scares him--how much he misses Sehun when they’re not together, how much he looks forward to their late night phone calls, the two of them fighting off sleep’s pull to stay on the line as long as they can. Junmyeon hadn’t known that emotions could run like this; fast and reckless like white water. And Junmyeon doesn’t know what to do, not with feelings this deep, not with his heart always on the verge of breaking free from his chest. All he’s done is hold his breath and try his absolute best to hold on.

Sehun hums and then pulls Junmyeon up to kiss him full on the mouth. It’s an easy, open mouthed kiss and Sehun breathes into Junmyeon’s mouth, a tender gasp that sounds and feels everything like a prayer. Junmyeon chases after him, kissing him back deeply, trying to pass some of his raging feelings between them. And Sehun accepts gratefully, swallowing the kiss down and opening his mouth, letting Junmyeon all the way in. They kiss like they’re drowning in it, like their desire for one another is overflowing, like the only way to keep from being swept away is to cling to each other. Sehun runs his hands all over Junmyeon’s body, slipping his fingers under the soft cotton on Junmyeon’s t-shirt, sliding over his chest, gripping at his hips, making Junmyeon moan into his mouth. Junmyeon places a hand on the back of Sehun’s neck and holds him there, keeping their faces close. 

They kiss until their chests are heaving, until they work up a storm between them. Sehun has rolled them over so that Junmyeon is on his back again, pinned underneath Sehun’s long frame. And it feels _ good _, so good to be covered like this, to have all of Sehun spread out on top of him. 

It makes Junmyeon want, so badly. 

Sehun finally breaks away with a gasp, his eyes hazy, his lips bitten red. Somewhere along the way Sehun’s shirt had gotten rucked up, the strong muscles of his stomach visible in the dim bedroom light. Junmyeon runs a finger down Sehun’s side, marveling in the softness of his skin. 

“That tickles,” Sehun says with a tiny shiver. He presses his face into the corner of Junmyeon’s neck, leaving a trail of tiny kisses along its curve.

“Maybe I want to tickle you,” Junmyeon chokes out as Sehun starts to suck on a pressure point. It sends a bolt of sensation through his body, straight to his dick, making him push his hips up against Sehun. “_ Fuck _, Sehun.”

“Still wanna tickle me?” Sehun murmurs, coy as ever. He bites down on the same spot, making Junmyeon cry out.

Junmyeon’s entire body runs hot and cold and he trembles, wanting to do something, _ anything _ more than just this. He pushes his hips up again, sighing and grinding into Sehun’s twin hardness. The friction makes Sehun groan and press back into him, setting a rhythm while they find each other’s lips again. 

Their bodies move like liquid; Sehun’s hands on Junmyeon‘s hips leading him in this dance that, somehow Junmyeon’s body has always known. It’s everything that he’s ever wanted, it’s everything that he’d ever dreamed about but told himself that he couldn’t have. Sehun is that everything. 

“Junmyeon?” Sehun whispers, his voice strained. “Do you. . . want to move? To the bed?”

Junmyeon stills. They’ve never done more than this. Never more than kiss and move their bodies together, their hands wandering, dancing along deep curves and soft lines. But the need has always been there--the need for more, the need for it to be deeper, to be closer, to be hotter. They’ve played with the fire growing between them but never leaned all the way in, too afraid to throw themselves into the seat of the flames. Touch like this, _ need _like this, just feels too big for them to take.

But now, looking up at the look on Sehun’s face-- gentle and open and full of trust and edged with fear--Junmyeon wants nothing more than to try.

“Yeah,” Junmyeon says, a little breathless. “Let’s do it.”

They detangle themselves from one another and then get up, passing through the gold beaded curtain into the other half of Sehun’s bedroom. 

Junmyeon sits down on the edge of Sehun’s bed. He’s nervous and his heart is beating so quickly, like it's going to jump out of his chest. Sehun stands at the foot of the bed and they just stare at each other for a moment, breathing in tandem.

“I’m scared,” Junmyeon confesses in a whisper. “I. . .I don’t know what I’m doing and I’ve never done this before but I want you so much.”

Sehun bites his bottom lip and nods. “I’m scared too,” he says. He sits down next to Junmyeon, suddenly seeming so small. “I have done this before. . .but only once. And I’m still scared.” He laughs, nervously. “And I. . .” He exhales in a big rushing breath. “I don’t know how to say this but. . .I’ve been tested, recently too. We got tested together down at the clinic. And I have a clear bill of health. I just thought I should let you know. . .in case you were worried or something.” 

“I’ve been tested too,” Junmyeon says. He takes Sehun’s hand and draws it into his lap. “I went with Baekhyun. We actually went to Coalition. . .on one of the days that you weren’t there. I didn’t want to tell you. . .you know. Just in case it didn’t go well.” Junmyeon swallows around his words. “But it went fine. I’m fine.”

“Ok,” Sehun says. He kisses Junmyeon again. “We’ll do this together, right?”

“Right.”

They take their time, working each other out of their clothes, stopping to kiss and touch each other along the way. Sehun doesn’t bother with turning on the bedside light, so they’re cast in shadow, with only the faint light from the other side of the room bleeding through the beaded curtain to cast delicate shadows against their skin. 

They pause, chests heaving, bodies thrumming and tight with want. Junmyeon is in Sehun’s lap, straddling his thighs, his arms looped up and around his boyfriend’s neck. Sehun’s hair is tangled and mussed from Junmyeon’s fingers working their way through it and his cheeks are tinged pink. He can feel the hard heat of Sehun’s arousal pushing up against the small of his back and _ god _ if Junmyeon doesn’t just want to edge in closer, find a way to meld their bodies into one. 

Sehun leans in to suck at Junmyeon’s neck again, making him tilt his head back and moan.

“How do you want to do this?” Sehun whispers into his skin. “I want you. Anyway you want me. So just tell me and we’ll do it.”

Junmyeon rocks his hips back and imagines Sehun slipping into him; pressing him down and sharing their heats. He wants that so badly, more than he ever wanted anything else, and the need burns him from the inside out, making him want to cry.

“I want you,” Junmyeon whispers. “I want you in me."

Sehun looks at him like he holds every last one of the stars and constellations posted on the walls and in that moment Junmyeon wants nothing more than to pluck each one from the sky and braid them into a necklace for Sehun to wear around his neck. 

“Ok,” Sehun says. 

Junmyeon ends up on his back, Sehun kissing him between his eyes as he works one lubed finger into Junmyeon’s heat. It all moves too quickly; the entrance, the slow pleasure blossoming within him, the heavy weight of each of his breaths as Junmyeon fights for air. It feels so good all at once and then it feels like not enough and Junmyeon finds himself begging for more.

“_ Please, Sehun _,” he moans. He’s moving his hips now, riding Sehun’s fingers, his hands gripping hard at the sheets. 

“Okay, baby,” Sehun says, the endearment slipping over his tongue and making Junmyeon flush red. “Give me a second.”

Sehun reaches into the bedside table and pulls out a condom from the drawer. He fumbles with it for a second, his fingers slippery from the lube and then gets it open, rolling it down on his dick.

Sehun places his hands on the back of Junmyeon’s thighs and hitches Junmyeon’s legs up around his waist. He lines himself up but doesn’t push in. Instead, he looks down at Junmyeon, with an expression so tender and so fond that it tugs right at the deepest part of Junmyeon’s soul.

“What?” Junmyeon asks. He reaches up to caress Sehun’s cheek, feeling the softness of his skin.

Sehun leans into the touch and shakes his head with a tiny smile. “Nothing.” He kisses the edge of Junmyeon’s hand. “Ready?”

Junmyeon takes a deep breath and nods. “Yeah.”

Sehun braces his arms against the bed and then guides himself into Junmyeon’s warmth. There’s a stretch and for a brief moment, Junmyeon is afraid it won’t work but then Sehun slides all the way in and Junmyeon loses all his breaths.

“Oh _ fuck _, Sehun,” he gasps.

“Is it okay?” Sehun asks, breathless, moving shallowly.

“It’s so good.” Junmyeon breaks off in another gasp. “It’s --_ shit _\--Sehun it’s so good.”

Sehun bites his lip and then leans down to lick at Junmyeon’s neck. He starts moving faster and Junmyeon completely loses his mind.

And finally, his body feels like his own. Close enough. Solid enough. Stable. Like when Sehun pushed in, everything around him came into focus, and Junmyeon finally settled into his own skin. Who knew touch could feel like this? Who knew that touch could feel like a home? Like a kiss could feel like safety. Like sex could feel like the promise of what he could be, of what he could have always had. Of what he’d always lusted after.

Junmyeon wraps his arms around Sehun, feeling the flex of the muscles in his back as he works into him. And Junmyeon feels like he’s aflame.

“Junmyeon,” Sehun moans his name. He bites his lip and touches his forehead to Junmyeon’s own, claiming Junmyeon’s lips with his own. “_ God _, baby.”

Sehun hitches Junmyeon’s hips up higher and he slides deeper and Junmyeon screams, giving himself completely over to the wave of pleasure.

“Tell me that it’s good,” Sehun murmurs into his ear, his breath hot against his skin. “Tell me that you like this.”

“_ Shit _ , _ Sehun _ .” Junmyeon struggles to condense all of this feeling into words. “It’s so good, I-I’ve never felt anything like this-- _ Fuck _.” Sehun works a hand down between them, taking Junmyeon into his palm. He jacks him off to the same rhythm of his thrusts and then it’s suddenly too much. Junmyeon’s eyes slide shut and his arches into Sehun, coming with a silent scream.

Sehun moans and speeds up, fucking into Junmyeon even faster. Junmyeon opens his eyes just as Sehun stills, his body vibrating as he finishes.

Sehun slides out and then rolls over onto his back, gasping for air with one arm flung over his eyes. 

Junmyeon slides over to him, tucking himself into Sehun’s side. Sehun peeks out at him from under his arm and then smiles.

“We’re too sticky to cuddle,” he says. He pulls Junmyeon closer to him anyways.

“Then let’s get cleaned up?” Junmyeon offers. He kisses Sehun briefly.

“One second,” Sehun says. He runs his fingers down the curve of Junmyeon’s arm before taking his hand in his own. “I just want to lay here for a second."

Junmyeon smiles at him. His heart feels so full.

“Ok,” he says. “Let’s lay here together.”  


**April 11, 1985**

_ Happy Birthday, Sehun. _

_ I saw this at a pawn shop down on Telegraph when I was out with Chanyeol the other day and immediately thought of you. What does it mean that whenever I see the stars I think of you? _

_ I’m not really sure if you’re a necklace person or anything but something about it just said that you needed to have it. _

_ Anyways, have a great birthday Sehun. I’m so glad that you’re in my life. _

_ \--- Junmyeon _

Junmyeon puts his pen down and sighs. The necklace that he’d bought that afternoon shines at him in the light of his lamp, the gold chain glimmering like a spilled sunbeam across his desk. He picks it up, feeling the way that the cool metal slides between his fingers. It seemed like a good idea at the time, when he and Chanyeol had walked past the display window on their way back from the library two days ago. It was the pendant that had caught his eye, the tiny stars stamped into the gold, the crescent moon set in its center. It’s a little wonky, but it made him think of Sehun, about how he always deserved to carry around at least a tiny bit of the galaxy that he loved so much. So he’d gone inside, bought it. It’d cost him all the cash he’d had in his wallet, but it was worth it. 

Or at least he thought it was worth it. If he can’t actually give Sehun the moon and stars, then this is the closest that he’ll ever be able to get.

Junmyeon carefully arranges the necklace in black cloth box. He folds his note in two.

He’ll give it to Sehun tomorrow. 

**September 4, 1991, Take Five.**

_ Gooooood morning, Portland! It’s 7:15 on Sept--- _

Junmyeon hits the snooze button so hard that he knocks the alarm clock off the nightstand. There’s something satisfying about the bang it makes when it hits the floor.

**October 17, 1989 **

The voice on the radio says that it’s the largest to hit since 1906.

“_ There are reports of some injuries at Candlestick Park where some fans were waiting for the World Series to begin.” _Junmyeon turns the tiny battery-powered Panasonic radio up with trembling fingers. He hasn’t been able to stop shaking.

The power is out; the city cut all the lines after the quake hit, so he’s sat there in the dark, only the light of the one candle he’d been able to dig out of the back of the pantry giving any light.

“_ We’re told that one of the fires in San Francisco’s Marina District has been put out and two others are under control. Emergency crews are still working at the Cypress Structure, trying to recover survivors from the collapse. So far, they’ve pulled eight people out. None have survived, but officials say that they’re not going to give up hope.” _

Junmyeon gropes around on the kitchen table, feeling for the pack of cigarettes that Sehun had tossed there before leaving for work that morning. His fingers close around the smooth cardboard and he opens it with uneasy fingers.

_ “We’re getting word that passengers are trapped on BART. Transportation officials aren’t letting any trains proceed down the tracks until they have been able to verify that the structures are still sound.” _

Junmyeon shakes a cigarette out of the pack, clasping it between his thumb and index finger. He tries to light it on the candle flame and misses--once, twice, three times--before he finally gets it lit. He brings it to his lips and takes a deep, shaky breath. The nicotine calms him, quelling the quick racing of his heart. 

_ “This is KCBS-AM. The time is 10:04 pm.” _

It’s been five hours. Five hours since the earth started to roll and buck like an angry sea. Since Junmyeon had dived underneath the kitchen table, holding on to its legs, eyes squeezed shut, wondering if this was how he was going to die.

Five hours since the power had gone out. Five hours since he’d been sitting alone at his kitchen table, wondering where Sehun was. Praying to every god he could name for Sehun to come home in one piece.

_ “Seven, no, five--five people are reported dead after a brick facade collapsed onto the sidewalk and street. Two were crushed to death in their car.” _

There’s the telltale clacking noise of the front door unlocking and Junmyeon jumps up from the kitchen table, dropping the cigarette into the ashtray.

He runs down the hallway. Sehun is there, toeing off his shoes. He looks exhausted, his body drooped and the lines around his mouth severe. He looks up.

“Oh thank god,” Junmyeon breathes out, relief filling his bones. He throws his arms around Sehun’s neck, holding him close. “Thank _ fucking _ god you’re ok.” 

All of him is trembling now, like the way the earth had shaken for those ten terrible seconds. Sehun holds him close. “_ Fuck _ Sehun.” Junmyeon doesn’t even try to stop his tears. “I really fucking thought something had happened to you. It’s been five hours and I couldn’t get a hold of you and I was so scared.”

Sehun tightens their embrace. “I know,” he says. “And I’m so sorry. I wanted to call, but all the phone lines were down after the earthquake. I couldn’t take BART because it stopped running. Minseok ended up driving me home but we couldn’t take the Bridge because part of it collapsed. So we and everyone else had to creep through the backroads. It took so long.”

Sehun eases them down to the floor, cradling Junmyeon so that he’s sitting in his lap. Sehun leans against the front door. Junmyeon keeps his arms wrapped around Sehun’s middle.

What a picture they must make, Junmyeon thinks. Two grown men, sitting on the floor in the dark, tangled together, both on the verge of tears. 

“Thank god you’re ok, too,” Sehun murmurs. “The entire time that we were driving back, I was so afraid that I was going to come home and you wouldn’t be here or that the apartment wouldn’t still be here or that I’d go to your mom’s place and find out--” he stops, inhales. “Find out that something happened to you. _ God _ , Junmyeon. I was thinking about that the entire time that I was trying to get back over here and _ fuck _. I don’t ever want to have to imagine a world without you in it.”

Junmyeon presses his face into the warm crook of Sehun’s neck and breathes him in. He smells like sweat and skin and that same sweet softness that, over the past five years, he’s come to associate with his boyfriend.

“Hey,” Sehun says, tucking his fist underneath Junmyeon’s chin, lifting his face so that they’re staring into each other. Sehun leans in and kisses him, a tender brush of lips. Junmyeon doesn’t let him pull away. He kisses Sehun back desperately, like he’s trying to prove to himself, prove to them both that they’re ok, that they’re here, that they’ve both survived.

Sehun cups Junmyeon’s face in both of his palms and returns the kiss, with the same wet anguish.

Junmyeon shifts around so that he’s astride Sehun’s lap, his knees on either side of Sehun’s thighs. He slips his hands into Sehun’s jacket, sliding it off his shoulders. Sehun shrugs it off and then reclaims Junmyeon’s lips, one hand braced on the small of Junmyeon’s back, pulling him close. 

They kiss like they’re drowning, like they’re afraid, like they’re mourning. Their hands press and slide and grip at one another, like they’re worshiping each other.

“Junmyeon,” Sehun whispers against his lips, so close that Junmyeon can taste the longing in his words. “Can I--?”

Junmyeon twines his hands in Sehun’s thick hair and nods.

“Oh god, _ please _.” He’s still trembling.

Sehun lays him down on the cold floor and undresses him, slowly. He takes his time working Junmyeon out of his button down, kissing each sliver of skin as he reveals it, making Junmyeon squirm and arch his back against the linoleum.

Sehun’s long fingers undo his belt and unzips his pants. Junmyeon lifts his hips so Sehun can slide everything off until he can take Junmyeon in his hand, his grip warm and firm. 

Sehun starts to work his hand up and down, sure and fast. He leans down to catch Junmyeon’s lips with his own. Junmyeon licks at the seam of Sehun’s lips, wanting to taste more of him and Sehun’s lets him in, swallowing down each one of Junmyeon’s minute gasps and whines.

“Like that?” Sehun breaks away to ask, gently.

“Yeah,” Junmyeon breaths out.

Like this Junmyeon knows that they’re still here. That they made it back to each other. That the earth can move and churn and shake but that they’ll never be apart. 

He finally stops shaking.

**September 4, 1991, Take Six.**

_ Baby, baby, baby _

_ Listen to me _

_ I may not know where I'm going baby _

_ Look here _

_ I said may not know what I need _

_ One thing _

_ One thing's for certain baby _

Junmyeon watches as Prince writhes across the stage, screaming out his longing for Apollonia, begging her with every last part of his body to choose him, to pick him to _ see him. _

_ I know what I want, yeah _

_ And it's to please you baby _

_ Please you baby _

_ I'm begging down on my knees _

The couple sitting behind Junmyeon is singing along, their muted harmonization clashing with Prince’s desperate wails. Junmyeon shifts in his seat and chances a glance over to the front left. He’s memorized Sehun’s spot. Third row from the front, second seat to the left. Sehun is still there, sitting as straight backed as ever.

_ I want you _

_ Yeah _

_ I want you _

_ Baby, baby, baby, baby _

Junmyeon turns his attention back to the screen.  


**June 25, 1984**

The sharp chime of the doorbell makes Junmyeon groan. He rolls over in bed and pulls the pillow over his head, hoping that that will stifle the noise. It’s too early in the morning on a _ Saturday _ during _ summer vacation _ for him to get out of bed. He’s spent every day this week working long hours at the family restaurant, trying his best to help his mother and grandmother out in his free time. Today is his first day off in forever and Junmyeon is _ tired _.

But whoever is at the door doesn’t let up. The chiming of the doorbell speeds up whoever is out there ramping up their assault.

“BAEKHYUN,” Junmyeon shouts, “CAN YOU FUCKING GET THAT PLEASE?”

“NO.” Baekhyun’s voice comes in through the wall. “I’M NAKED AND ABOUT TO GET IN THE SHOWER. SO JUNMYEON, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, CAN YOU PLEASE GET THE FUCK OUT OF BED AND ANSWER THE GODDAMNNED DOOR?”

Junmyeon grumbles and throws the sheets off his legs. He’s too tired and too annoyed to bother putting on a shirt or a proper pair of pants, so he storms down the hall shirtless and only in a pair of boxers.

“Okay, okay I’m coming!” Junmyeon calls as he unlatches the deadbolt.

He swings the door open. Sehun is standing on the front step, one finger poised to press the doorbell again. They stare at each other for a moment and then a slow smile spreads over Sehun’s face as he takes in Junmyeon’s mostly naked state.

“Oh,” Sehun says, slyly. “Good morning to you too.”

Junmyeon feels his cheeks go red and he folds one arm over his chest in a vain attempt to shield his partial nudity.

“Sehun,” Junmyeon says. “Why are you abusing my doorbell at 8:30 on a Saturday morning?”

“Because,” Sehun says. “We’re going to the record store. Right now.”

“Again,” Junmyeon says, frowning at him. “It’s 8:30 in the morning. On a Saturday. In the summer.”

“And Prince’s new album comes out today so we’re. Going. To. The. Record. Store.”

And then Junmyeon remembers. Sehun had brought this up over the phone on Wednesday night, mentioning that Prince’s last album was slated to be released today. At the time, Junmyeon had agreed to go with him to buy the album but he hadn’t known that Sehun wanted to go this early in the day.

“So early though?” Junmyeon asks. “It’s not like they’re gonna run out of cassettes, Sehun.”

“They might,” Sehun says, wide-eyed and serious. “It is _ Prince _ after all.”

Junmyeon groans. He steps back and opens the door wider.

“Alright, fine,” he says. He’s awake now anyways. “Come in and give me a second to get changed. Then we can go.”

Sehun’s grin is brillant. He steps inside and kisses Junmyeon on the cheek.

“Hooray.” He gives Junmyeon’s body another once over. “And for the record, you look amazing shirtless.”

“Oh my _ god _, Sehun.”

\---

They take Junmyeon’s ancient two-door Ford. 

The store is more packed than Junmyeon has ever seen it, people swarming through the low aisles, flipping through the bins of records and sorting through the racks of cassette tapes.

There are posters hung in the windows, Prince in a ruffled shirt and a purple jacket, straddling a motorcycle, glowering at the camera. PURPLE RAIN is emblazoned across the top of the picture in dark purple writing.

Prince’s new album is easy to find. The new record is placed up at the front, on the display rack advertising the new releases. There’s only one left.

Sehun grabs it off the display with a shout.

“_ See _?” he says, waving the record, shiny in its shrink-wrapped packaging, in front of Junmyeon’s face. “I told you that we needed to get here early.”

“I bet they have more in the back,” Junmyeon says.

“Totally not the point, Junmyeon, but ok.”

When they get to the register, Sehun asks for the cassette version as well. “I want to have both, you know?” he explains when Junmyeon asks. “And anyways, the cassette is way more portable than the vinyl.”

Sehun takes the cassette out once they get back to the car.

“Do you want to listen to it now?” Junmyeon asks. 

Sehun’s whole face lights up. “Oh fuck yeah.”

Sehun unwraps the cassette from its packaging as Junmyeon starts the engine. Sehun presses play just as they pull off from the curb.

_ Dearly beloved, we have gathered here today _

_ To get through this thing called life. _

Ethereal organs fill the tiny car, playing background to Prince’s monologue. 

_ Electric word, life, it means forever and that's a mighty long time _

_ But I'm here to tell you there's something else _

_ The afterworld _.

Junmyeon chances a glance at Sehun who is staring out the passenger-side window. 

_ A world of never ending happiness _

_ You can always see the sun, day or night _

Junmyeon smiles to himself and refocuses his attention on the road. He hums along. 

\---

They end up in one of the parking lots on the northside of campus. It’s a Saturday in June, so it’s nearly empty, with only one other car, a beige sedan, parked in the far corner of the lot.

Junmyeon parks in the shade of one of the towering redwoods clustered to the side of the lot. They open both car doors and recline their seats as far back as they’ll go. Sehun turns the volume up, and they lay there listening to the album play through.

There’s a light breeze cutting through the air, soft and gentle, and Junmyeon relishes the way that the summer morning air kisses at his skin as Prince sings about desire and longing and frustration and regret and love and sex.

He and Sehun don’t speak, not even when side one runs through and Junmyeon has to reach forward to flip it.

Sehun reaches over and takes Junmyeon’s hand halfway through the

“So what did you think?” Sehun asks when last notes have faded out. 

“Fuck,” Junmyeon swears. He’s not sure what to say. How do you express that feeling when you hear someone put words to things that you didn’t even know that you felt. What are the words for that? He just settles on: “It’s incredible. It’s so good. And that last song--” Sehun nods at him, his eyes shining. “Fuck, that last one is amazing.”

Sehun rights his seat and presses rewind.

“Wanna go get donuts and then listen to it again?” he asks.

Junmyeon readjusts his seat and starts the engine.

“Hell yeah.”

\---

In all, they listen to Purple Rain all the way through six times that day. 

Three times in the car, Junmyeon driving around Berkeley with all the windows down, letting the sunshine mix with the melodies. By the third listen, they’ve memorized most of the words, and the two of them sing along at the top of their lungs, shouting the music into the summer air.

_ You! I would die for you! yeah! _

_ Darling if you want me to! _

_ You! I would die for you! _

With the smell of summer in his lungs and Sehun next to him and Prince playing on the radio, Junmyeon doesn’t think that he’s ever felt more free.

The last three times, they listen to it in Sehun’s room, the album playing on his record player. They lay on their backs on his floor with all the lights off, just focusing on the deep intricacies in the music. The songs sound fuller like this, the music is richer, filling every last crack and crevice in Sehun’s attic. Junmyeon feels like he’s being carried away on the wail of Prince’s guitar.

“So,” Sehun says with a sigh after their sixth listen. “Which song is your favorite?”

“The last one, Purple Rain,” Junmyeon says, staring up at the rafters. “No question.”

“Me too, I think,” Sehun says. “That one or The Beautiful Ones. But I think I still need to sit on it. Every song is so fucking _ good _ . It’s like. . .I feel like Prince was looking into my mind when he wrote this. So much of this album just feels like it _ gets me _, you know?”

“It does feel really real,” Junmyeon says. “It feels like Prince really tapped into some deep vessel of humanity when he wrote this.”

Sehun laughs. “‘Deep vessel of humanity,’” he repeats. “Thanks for the analysis, Professor Kim.”

Junmyeon laughs with him. “Anytime.”

  


**March 26, 1990**

Junmyeon turns the busy street corner towards the bar where he knows Sehun is waiting for him. They’re supposed to get drinks together tonight, before heading to a concert. Soundgarden and Nirvana are playing at a tiny venue tucked just off the Castro and Sehun had gotten tickets. It’s all he’s talked about for the past week, playing nothing but the bands’ two albums on repeat throughout their apartment for days on end.

Sehun is easy to spot, standing outside of the bar in his usual leather jacket and blue jeans, his hands in his pockets. He breaks into a huge smile when Junmyeon walks up.

“Hey.” Sehun leans in to kiss him on the cheek. “I haven’t heard from you all day,” he says. “I was almost afraid that you weren’t gonna make it.”

It takes everything Junmyeon has to force out a smile.

“Sorry,” he says. “I got caught up at work all day. I’m working on a big project.”

“How big and important can computers be?” Sehun asks. He winks at him and takes his hand. “All you do is punch numbers all day.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Junmyeon forces out. “It’s a bit harder than that.”

“I have a present for you,” Sehun says. He reaches into his jacket pocket with his freehand and takes out a cassette tape, handing it over. “It’s been a while since I’ve made you a mixtape and I feel like I need to make up for all the grunge I’ve been playing in the house.”

Junmyeon looks at the label. _ For You, Part 25. _

“Thanks, Sehun,” he says. “It’s been a while.”

Sehun laughs and squeezes Junmyeon’s hand in his own. “How else would you stay up to date on what music is good?”

Junmyeon doesn’t rise to the jab and just smiles at him weakly.

“Are you ok?” Sehun asks, concerned. “You’re really quiet.”

Junmyeon takes a deep breath and glances down the sidewalk. The Castro is surprisingly busy for a Thursday night; people are everywhere making their way up and down the narrow sidewalks.

“It’s my mother,” Junmyeon says. “Things are. . .getting hard.”

Sehun inhales sharply. “What do you mean?” Junmyeon’s mother has been a constant presence in their lives for the past few months, calling at odd hours of the night, making Junmyeon stay up with her on the phone while she talked through the latest developments in his grandmother’s health, shaming him for not coming home, blaming him for the downturn in his grandmother’s state. 

_ She wouldn’t be this sick if you would just come home and help. What kind of son are you? Who would do this to their family? _

It’s been a strain on Junmyeon. He’s been sleep deprived and agitated for the past month, snapping at Sehun and his friends, going straight to the bedroom he and Sehun share after work every evening, not wanting to talk. It’s been hard on Sehun, too, and the two of them have been more distant than they ever have been.

“My mother is making me choose,” Junmyeon says. He can barely look at Sehun, the pain on his face is burning his eyes. “She called me at the office, just before I left. She said that I can’t come home unless I. . .promise to stop seeing you. She said that I can’t come into our house if I’m still. . .with you. She won’t let me see Halmeoni if I’m still near you.”

It happens in slow motion. The way that Sehun’s face collapses in on itself, the way that the light in his eyes takes on water, diluting their glow. Junmyeon hates that he has to watch it happen.

“She wants you to choose?” Sehun repeats. 

“She does.” Junmyeon can’t look at him anymore. He focuses on the sign instead, the street’s name lit up in red and gold. He remembers his first time down in the Castro--his first date with Sehun, the swelling happiness in his chest, the wonder and amazement that he felt when seeing people living openly, without fear.

Now all Junmyeon can feel is a deep sinking panic. The crowds walking past and the lights and the loud music spilling out of the clubs are making him nauseous and he’s trying his absolute best not to push past them all and race up the hill into the quiet normalcy of the sleepy neighborhood streets, with their candy-colored houses and mothers and fathers tucking their children into perfect, normal beds. The life that Junmyeon was supposed to want. The safe and stable life that his mother and grandmother had dreamed of for him.

“She wants me to choose,” Junmyeon says. “I don’t know what Halmeoni wants. She can barely wake up, she’s that sick. God, my mother said the worst thing on the phone yesterday. . .” Junmyeon bites his lip. “She said that I can’t come around as long as I’m still with you because I’ll just make Halmeoni worse. She thinks _ I’m _ sick. For being with you. That being with you makes me sick.” Each word feels like hot glass on Junmyeon’s tongue and they blister across his tongue.

Sehun’s expression is unreadable.

“So what are you gonna do?” Sehun asks. His voice is strained.

“I don’t know,” Junmyeon says. “But I can’t just abandon my grandma like that. . .I. . .can’t.”

Not after everything his mother and grandmother had done for him. Not after they’d left an entire continent behind, for the promise of another chance, not after they’d given up so much just for the chance to have Junmyeon hold them steady in their uncertain times.

There are three things that Junmyeon knows: one, that his mother and grandmother had put all of their chips in him, in the possibility that he would be great, that he would be good, that he would stay safe and always be stable; two, that he had lived and wanted and loved and had something that; three, was never really his to begin with, that love like what he has and what he’s felt don’t belong to people like him, not to people whose lives have never really been theirs to begin with, not to people whose lives are bigger than their own bodies, not to people who have to be the foundation and the hope and dream for an entire lineage.

“I can’t just say no to my mother,” Junmyeon says again. His throat aches like its been shredded, like it’s bleeding. “So I don’t know.”

“Junmyeon. . .” Sehun whispers. He has his hands balled into two tight fists clenched at his sides. “What are you saying?”

Junmyeon swallows, hard. And _ god _, he can’t look at Sehun, he can’t look him in the eyes or he’s certain that his entire heart will crack. “I think. . .” he starts. But it’s so hard to say it, so fucking hard. “I think I have to say goodbye, for a little while. Until I figure out what to do. Because I don’t really think I know what to do right now.”

“Well you need to fucking _ make a decision _ , Junmyeon.” Junmyeon jumps. He’s never heard Sehun shout before, not like this, not hot and red and angry like blood splashed across the pavement after a knife fight. Junmyeon looks at him, looks into the face of man he loves and he for the first time, he feels fear. Sehun’s face is red and he’s breathing hard. “I’m not just here for you to play with. It’s been _ years _ . Fucking _ years _ . I’ve given you so much--six years of my whole entire life.” His voice crackles, like burning paper. Junmyeon’s chest aches, like he’s breathing in the smoke. “You have almost all of my twenties. A whole chunk of my adulthood. Parts of me exist only because you helped make them.” His eyes drop to the floor and Junmyeon watches him bite his lip, hard, so hard that it goes white. “You have so much of me. You’re a _ part _ of me.”

Sehun sniffs and suppresses a sob, his breath catching. He shakes his head, like he’s trying to will the tears back into his eyes. People continue down the sidewalk, their laughter muting as they sense the tension between the two of them as they walk past.

“You can’t do this to me,” Sehun rasps, his volume dropping. “You can’t spend _ six years _ holding me and kissing me and whispering that you love me only to try to tell me that I’m not someone that you can hang on to. You can’t tell me that you can’t do this with me.” He finally looks up, staring Junmyeon straight in the eye. His eyes are rimmed red. “ _ Fuck. That.” _ He spits out the last two words with a bitterness that Junmyeon has never heard from him.

“But I guess it’s my own fault though, right?” he continues. “Cause I fucking fell for you and I put all my cards in you and I believed you and I wanted you. I found a home in you. You were a part of my everything. You were the closest thing I ever had to a family. And I never fucking lied to you, I never hid any part of myself from you. I gave you _ everything _ . I showed you _ all of me _.” He laughs, sharp and sour. “But I should have fucking known better. You’ve never really been all in, have you? You’ve never really loved me.”

Junmyeon hears the delicate crash of his own heart shattering. 

“No!” He cries out, his voice cracking. “Sehun, that’s not it. I just feel like I’m stuck between a rock and a hard place. It’s my Halmeoni and I just---” he chokes back a sob. “I’m being forced to pick between you and my family and. . .” he fights for the words. “I’ve always loved you, Sehun, you know that. I’ll always lov--”

“Shut up, Junmyeon.” Sehun’s voice is deathly quiet. “I’ll believe that when you fucking decide to choose me.”

Sehun takes a deep breath and then straightens up. The lights of The Castro sign glint in the tear tracks on his cheeks. He wipes a hand across his face, his skin pulling as he drags his palm downwards.

“Make a fucking _ decision _, Junmyeon,” Sehun rasps at him. He turns away, and starts off in the opposite direction, leaving Junmyeon standing alone, clutching the cassette tape so tightly in his left hand. He squeezes it, tight, so tightly, that it cracks, the plastic jewel case breaking into shards and cutting into his hand. Junmyeon feels the hot ooze of blood across his palm. He can’t bring himself to care.

Sehun doesn’t come home after that night. Junmyeon packs up his things after three nights alone and moves back in with his mom and grandmother. His mother doesn’t say anything when she sees him on her doorstep, his suitcase stuffed tight. She just opens the door and walks away.

The silence between them stretches for two months. Junmyeon picks up his phone and listens to the dial tone. He puts it down. He doesn’t call him. He avoids The Castro, stays in Oakland. He stops going out. For the first month, he has trouble sleeping, missing the strong rhythm of Sehun’s steady breathing regulating his dreams. The month after, his body aches with exhaustion and he finally sleeps; first for ten hour nights, then all afternoon, then for days on end. He quits his job. His grandmother finally dies in May, passing quietly in her sleep. Junmyeon wonders if the sleep will take him too.

His birthday rolls around two days later. He’s twenty-seven. Junmyeon packs his bags and buys a bus ticket. Maybe he can make it to Seattle. Maybe he’ll take the Greyhound until it reaches the edge of America. Until it reaches the end of the world. Maybe this is his decision.  


**September 4, 1991, Take Seven.**

_ “It’s a song the girls in the band wrote, Lisa and Wendy.” _

The opening chords of Purple Rain fill the theatre and Junmyeon feels his heart skip.

There are some songs that burrow under your skin, that hit the deepest part of your heart, that make you feel things that you didn’t know you could feel. Purple Rain has always been that song for Junmyeon. 

It’s been so long since he’s listened to this song, not since Sehun had given him that last cassette tape and not since Junmyeon had mustered up the last of his courage and finally listened to it.

It hurts now, more than he thought it would, to see Prince up on the screen, singing his heart out and each note pierces deep in Junmyeon’s chest. 

He bites his lip. He tries his hardest not to cry.

He does anyway.

**May 28, 1984**

Junmyeon makes his way down the sidewalk, the early evening glow of the setting sun staining the Berkeley skyline in muted pastel purples and pinks and blues. It’s a nice night, still warm from the day’s sunlight. Junmyeon had skipped on wearing a jacket tonight, instead letting the soft breeze brush against the thin fabric of his sweater.

It’s the Sunday of Memorial Day weekend and everyone is out--people on their porches, kids playing in the street.There’s the sweet smokiness caught on the wind, the smell of a hundred barbecues. And someone is playing music off in the distance, the soft bass threading in with air.

The night feels easy, in that smooth slowness that only ever comes during long weekends.

Junmyeon hums to himself as he turns the corner to Sehun’s street. He had been able to beg off of work at the restaurant tonight, telling his mother that he had a test to review for. He felt bad about it in the moment, but all of that guilt melts away the second that Sehun opens his front door.

“Well hello there,” Sehun says as he closes the door behind him. Sehun leans down to kiss him, full on the lips. It’s a soft kiss, almost like a whisper, and it lingers, Junmyeon’s eyes sliding shut, savoring the warmth of Sehun’s mouth against his own.

“Hi,” Junmyeon murmurs when they part. 

Sehun smiles at him. “I’m really happy to see you,” he says. “It feels like it’s been so long.”

Junmyeon shakes his head at him, smiling exasperatedly. “I saw you on Thursday,” he says. “And we were up on the phone all night last night.”

“That’s a long time, though,” Sehun says with a wink. Junmyeon’s stomach does a backflip. A month into. . .whatever this is, and Junmyeon still feels like Sehun is able to reach into his insides. He feels like he shouldn’t like it as much as he does.

Sehun closes the door behind Junmyeon.

“Chanyeol and Jongin are at a party at Jackson Wang’s place,” he says as he leads Junmyeon to the kitchen. “So it’s just us tonight.”

“You didn’t want to go too?” Junmyeon asks. Jackson’s parties are legendary on the Cal campus--infamous for their huge crowds, excessive amounts of alcohol and the sheer number of scandals that always bubble up in the aftermath.

Sehun shakes his head. “Not right now. It’ll probably keep going until midnight, at least, so we can head over later if you want.” He goes over to the fridge, opening it to examine its contents. “Do you want a beer?” he asks Junmyeon, who’s sat himself at the kitchen table. 

Junmyeon nods. “Sure.”

Sehun takes out two Miller High Lifes. He pops the caps off on the edge of the countertop. He sits down next to Junmyeon, handing a beer over.

“Cheers.” Sehun lifts his bottle in a toast, his eyes crinkling with that joyous mischief that he always seems to be carrying inside him. Junmyeon is hit with the urge to reach out and cup some of that joy into the palms of hands. He wants to bring it up to his lips, drink it down, find a way to carry some of Sehun inside of him.

That thought scares him.

So instead, Junmyeon toasts him back and takes a sip of his beer, the taste cold and the bubbles crisp against his tongue.

“Sehun,” Junmyeon says, carefully. “Can I ask you something?”

Sehun raises his eyebrows and hums in agreement.

“Of course,” he says. “You can ask me anything.”

Junmyeon takes a deep breath. “What. . .what are we doing Sehun? Are we-- I mean, am I--”

“Are we dating?” Sehun fills in. “Is that what you mean?”

Junmyeon takes another sip of his beer, bigger this time. The bottle’s glass feels slick in his hand.

“Yeah,” he says as he swallows. “That’s what I mean.”

Sehun grins at him, running a hand through his hair.

“Can I answer your question with another question?” Sehun asks. “Do you want to date me?”

And that--_ that _\--that’s something that Junyeon isn’t sure that he can answer. For the past month, Sehun has been all he can think about. He’s the first thing that crosses Junmyeon’s mind every morning, seeping into his thoughts as the sunlight eases across his bedroom. He’s the last thing that Junmyeon thinks about at night, clinging to the mischief in Sehun’s smile as sleep carries him to unconsciousness.

Junmyeon wants Sehun so much. He wants Sehun in the same way he’d wanted that midnight rain-soaked kiss, he wants Sehun in a way that he’d never wanted Irene. In a way that he’s never wanted anyone else at all.

But for all his want, for his all his _ need _, when Junmyeon closes his eyes he sees his mother and grandmother, standing on the curb at the San Francisco airport. He sees his tiny hand grasped in grandmother’s own, he hears their voices, his grandmother and mother whispering in unison. 

_ Safety. Stability _.

He looks at Sehun now, sees the patience and care spread across his face and the deep tenderness and trust in his eyes. Junmyeon imagines that he could dig through to the Earth’s core and he wouldn’t be able to find anything in the world that’s more safe or more stable than the swell of emotion that Sehun makes bloom in his chest.

“I do,” Junmyeon says, his voice so small. He looks down at the table, studying the layered rings of water damage. “I do want to date you. I like you Sehun,” he admits. “I like you more than I’ve ever liked anyone before. I know that I just met you, but it feels like I’ve been waiting my entire life for you to walk up to me. When I’m with you. . .things make sense.” He looks up at Sehun, holding his gaze as steadily as he dares. “When I’m with you, I understand parts of myself that I always told myself that I would--could, really--never get to know. But I’m _ scared _. You scare the hell out of me.” It hurts to admit it, hurts in a way that it feels like the words have been ripped out from the back of Junmyeon’s throat. He drinks more of his beer, trying to soothe the pain.

Sehun has nothing else to say. He just takes Junmyeon’s free hand in one of his own, tangling their fingers together.

“I’m scared too,” Sehun says, softly. “You’re the first for me too, you know? You’re the first person that I’ve ever really wanted to be with, like this. I don’t know what it is about you, but you make me want to _ try _ to have a real relationship.” His face contorts into an expression halfway between joy and pain. “The whole world is telling us that two men can’t care about each other,” he says, almost strained. “That any relationship we’d try to have is fucked up and impossible. That by trying this we’d be crossing a forbidden line. But, Junmyeon--” Sehun leans towards him, gripping Junmyeon’s hand tight, “I feel like we could be _ possible _. I feel like there’s enough here, even only after a month or however long it’s been, to build on--to build something stronger than what the world is busy trying to force us into.” Sehun laughs, quietly. “So, yeah. I want to date you too. If you’ll let me.”

That molten heat from that first night on the porch is back in Junmyeon’s stomach, licking its way up and through his body. This--all of this--is reckless, it’s foolish, it makes as much sense as kissing in the middle of the night during the pouring rain.

But the thing is, Junmyeon has always liked the rain. He’s always liked the way it feels, cold and close against his skin. 

And Junmyeon has never wanted much in his life, at least, he’s never wanted anything like this. He feels like he’s been asleep ever since he boarded that plane fifteen years ago, like he fell asleep in the clouds.

But then Sehun sat down next to him on a porch step on a moonlit night and, finally, Junmyeon woke up. And Junmyeon doesn’t want to go back to sleep.

So he says: “Yes. I want to date you, too. More than anything.”

If happiness had a wattage, it would be the same brilliance of Sehun’s smile.

Sehun leans forward and kisses Junmyeon full across the mouth.

“Alright then,” Sehun says when he breaks away, “boyfriend.”

Junmyeon swats at him. “So corny.”

Sehun leers at him. “Always.”

They climb two sets of stairs, take their beers to Sehun’s room, upstairs in the attic.

It’s a huge space; with a high ceiling with old-school wooden rafters. There’s a half moon window tucked into one corner, giving a clear view of the night sky. Sehun’s hung a gold-beaded curtain from one of the beams, dividing the space in half. Through the gaps in the beads, 

Junmyeon can see through to the other side where there’s bed with a blue comforter and a side table covered in books, a tiny white lamp balanced on its edge.

But the half they’re standing in is taken up with an antique secretary’s desk that looks like it was plucked from the turn of the century. There’s a swivel desk chair and two low bookshelves crammed with books and magazines. Sehun’s haphazardly pasted posters on the wall, all space themed: there’s a map of the solar system that Junmyeon is certain was posted in his fifth grade classroom, a vintage woodblock print of the moon and star chart that has to be from the late 1890s _ at least _. There’s a mismatched pair of standing lamps in either corner and Sehun goes over to them both, turning them on. There’s a boombox in the space between them and next to that is a gray record player, its lid closed.

“So this is the fun section,” Sehun says. He puts his beer down on the edge of the desk and then goes through the beaded curtain. “This side is less fun.” He comes back with two huge floor pillows. He drops them in the middle of the floor.

He gestures to the pillows. “Get comfy?”

Junmyeon gingerly sits down on one of them, his back towards the window. From this angle, he can see through the still swinging beaded curtain into the other side of the room. 

Junmyeon redirects his attention to Sehun’s bookshelves, squinting to read the titles.There are dozens of volumes of science fiction mags; _ Asimov’s Science Fiction _ , _ Analogue _ , and _ F&SF _ taking up five shelves, at least. There are books on space and the universe and scattered among them, almost as if by accident, are his textbooks. _ Advanced Calculus III _ , _ Introduction to Macroeconomics, The Shakespeare Reader _.

“You really like space, don’t you?” Junmyeon asks when Sehun sits down on the cushion next to him. 

Sehun shrugs. “I guess so. I mostly just really like science fiction and fantasy. I’m a huge _ Star Wars _ fan. I think space is really fascinating; it’s a great backdrop for a huge fantastical story, you know?”

“Is that why you have ten thousand sci-fi mags?” Junmyeon says, teasing him.

“Hey, I _ like _ them.” Sehun scowls at him. “Are you gonna make fun of me for being a nerd? Because that’s really reductive, Junmyeon.”

Junmyeon laughs. “No, don’t worry. I think it’s really. . .cute. That you have something that you love this much. You love a lot of different things.”

“I do.” Sehun stretches his legs out in front of him. He’s so much taller than Junmyeon, even sitting down like this. It’s so hard to not feel completely overwhelmed. “I like a lot of things.”

“You like sci-fi and math and rollerskating,” Junmyeon lists off. “And music.” 

“I do love music.” Sehun gets up and goes over to the window. There’s an old milk crate underneath it, full of records. Sehun squats down and starts rummaging through them.

“You really love music.” It isn’t a question, but Junmyeon still wants to know more.

“I do.” Sehun doesn’t look up. “Always have.”

“Always?”

“Always.” Sehun seems to find what he’s looking for and pulls out a record in a dark blue sleeve. He reaches over and opens up the record player, carefully removing the record from its sleeve and then setting the needle on the disk. A gentle piano melody fills the room.

Sehun goes over to where Junmyeon is stretched out and lays down on his back, next to him, sharing the same pillow. He’s so close that their finger tips graze at each other and Junmyeon can feel the warmth radiating off of Sehun’s body.

“This is Joni Mitchell,” Sehun murmurs, his voice treading underneath the song. “_ Blue _. One of my favorites.”

The song is like the coldest part of the deepest lake, Junmyeon thinks. Joni’s voice is so full that it feels depthless and it floods him, taking him under, until Junmyeon feels like he’s at the bottom of Lake Merritt, the warmth of the sun glinting somewhere far above him. 

Sehun’s hand sneaks over and he twines his fingers with Junmyeon’s own, like he knows, like he’s trying to anchor Junmyeon, keep him near and close on the bedroom floor.

Junmyeon takes a deep breath, feeling his chest rise and fall with the swell of air.

“This is incredible,” he whispers to Sehun. “It’s such a simple song but it feels enormous. It feels like it’s taking up the entire room, the entire world.”

“That’s why I love music,” Sehun says. “It takes you over. It swallows you. I feel like I can sink into a song, into an artist and have them take over my entire world. Music makes me feel like I can control the world. It’s like it lets me see the world exactly the way that I want to.”

“Do you not like the world that you’re seeing, usually?” Junmyeon asks. “Is there something wrong with it?”

“It never feels like there’s space for me in it. It never feels big enough. It always feels so cluttered with terrible things and hate and loss and loneliness. Music makes it all better.”

“What about now? Do you like the world you’re seeing right now?”

Sehun turns over on his side, looking Junmyeon straight into the eyes. He doesn’t let go of Junmyeon’s right hand, instead bringing up to his mouth and squeezing it tightly, firmly, in his palm.

“Are you my world, right now?” He whispers. His face is so close. Junmyeon’s breath catches in his throat and he feels like his heart has travelled to his hand, to be caught in the gasp of space between their two palms. 

“I don’t know if I’m your world,” Junmyeon says. “But I think I’m in it. At least right now.”

“Then I like it,” Sehun says with a smile. “I like it a lot.”

\---

Junmyeon eases awake. The room is dim, lit only by the light of the lamps. Sehun has an arm tight around his middle holding him close. They’re still on the floor, having fallen asleep listening to records. It’s not the most comfortable thing in the world but, there, with Sehun’s body hot at his back and with the steady sound of his breathing filling the night, Junmyeon feels more at peace than he ever has.He stares at the swirls of planets and galaxies on Sehun’s walls. The beaded curtain hangs off to the side, the gold beads glowing in the lamp light like the shower of a thousand shooting stars. He wants to stay, he thinks. He wants to stay here, with Sehun, asleep in the light.

He lays there for a while longer but he’s more thirsty than he can stand.

He works himself out of Sehun’s embrace, gently, and then slips out of the bedroom. He picks his way down the stairs in the dark, one hand on the wall, guiding him down.

The kitchen is dark and empty so Junmyeon fumbles around for a moment before finding the lightswitch. He has to open three different cupboards until he finds where the cups are kept. He selects a blue plastic tumbler and fills it with water from the faucet, drinking it down in one go. He’s in the middle of filling his cup for the second time when the front door opens with a bang. There's a commotion in the hallway and then Jongin appears in the kitchen, hair messy and cheeks red with the tell tale flush of alcohol.

“Oh,” Jongin says when he notices him. “Junmyeon. I didn’t know you’d still be here.” 

Junmyeon glances at the clock above Jongin’s head. The hour hand is just past 1 am. 

“Yeah,” he says. “Sehun and I fell asleep while listening to music. I didn’t really mean to stay.”

Jongin graces him with one of his soft smiles and nods. He plops himself down at the kitchen table and props his legs up on one of the other vacant chairs. “Makes sense,” he says. “That’s peak Sehun behavior. He still asleep?”

Junmyeon nods. “I got thirsty,” he holds the tumbler full of water up as an explanation. “Do you want some?”

“That would be amazing.”

Junmyeon goes back to the cupboard and takes out another cup, filling it as well. He carries it over to Jongin, placing it on the table next to him.

Jongin takes a big sip. “God, thanks. I drank way more than I meant to and I’m gonna feel this in the morning, I can feel it already.” Jongin is much more talkative when he’s drunk, words spilling out of him in a quick flow.

Junmyeon sits down in the other open chair. “Jackson’s party was good, I take it?” He’s never really spent much time with Jongin. Unlike Chanyeol, who Junmyeon seemed to always bump into all around campus after that night at Gravity, and now they got lunch together all the time, Jongin is still a bit of a mystery to him.

Jongin smiles and shrugs. “It was fine. Same as always. Dancing, music, alcohol. Semi-indecent behavior. I left early.”

“Is that why Chanyeol isn’t here?” Junmyeon asks.

All of the ease in Jongin’s face drops immediately. “Yeah,” he says, his voice tight. “He wanted to stay a little while longer. With some of his other friends.”

Junmyeon doesn’t know what to do with this change in tone so he leaves it there, hanging. He drinks more of his water.

Jongin sighs and runs a hand through his hair.

“How are you and Sehun doing?” Jongin asks, breaking the weird tension between them.

Junmyeon can still feel the warmth of Sehun’s arm, curled around his middle. He smiles to himself.

“We’re good,” he says to Jongin. “I think we’re really good.”

A softness comes over Jongin, his lips curling upwards.

“That’s really good to hear,” he says. “Sehun deserves it, really. I mean, you both do, but Sehun’s had such a rough time. . .he really deserves to know what it feels like to be cared for.”

“A rough time?” Junmyeon frowns. 

Jongin raises his eyebrows. “If he hasn’t told you, then it’s not my story to tell.” He folds his arms on the table in front of him and rests his head on top of them. “But, like, I’ve known Sehun my whole life. And growing up in LA. . .it was hard on him. He never really fit in there and I think he felt really alone when we were kids. And he was always so. . .hungry? Or so desperate, probably, for friendship or for someone to _ see _ him, you know? I think that’s why he was in such a huge rush to leave.” He quirks his mouth to the side. 

“But when he left, he really left everything behind. He had to start all over up here. And I know that he can sometimes come off as being kind of mischievous and flirtatious but really, there’s a lot of hurt there.” Jongin laughs to himself, softly. “I probably shouldn’t be telling you any of this, but I’m pretty drunk so what the hell. You should at least be able to know more about the man--” Junmyeon’s heart jumps--” you’re dating. Sehun tends to get attached easily. Not in a bad way, but he wants so much all the time, he’s always trying to _ keep _ people, in a way. So, he might try to keep you, Junmyeon.” Jongin looks up at Junmyeon through his bangs. “And honestly? Sehun deserves all the love in the goddamn world. He’s a lot more fragile than he comes off. So, Junmyeon, take care of him, ok? Sehun is like the brother I never had. And I only want the best for him.”

Junmyeon nods. He grips the tumbler tightly in his hand.

“I’ll try my best, Jongin,” he says, “I will, really.” Junmyeon swears to himself that he will try. Right there, in the harsh glare of the kitchen lights, sitting across from his boyfriend’s best friend, Junmyeon makes that promise to himself.

Jongin props his head up with one hand. He grins. “I think I like you, Junmyeon.”

Junmyeon smiles back at him. He takes another sip of his water.


	2. Chapter 2

** September 4, 1991, Take Eight. **

_“You didn’t pass the initiation.”_

_“What initiation?”_

_“Well for starters, you have to purify yourself in the waters of Lake Minnetonka.”_

Amber snickers next to him. “Is that supposed to be erotic?” She whispers. “It’s just awkward. And--wait, is she actually going for it?” She laughs as Apollonia starts to strip down on screen, jumping into the lake. 

Junmyeon shrugs in the dark theatre. “It’s kind of a good line.”

“Would you do something that stupid just because the person you’re obsessed with told you to?” Amber reaches for another handful of popcorn. “I would _never_. Imagine how cold the lakes are in Minnesota?”

“You’ve never done something stupid because you were in love?” Junmyeon asks. Someone shushes them. Junmyeon lowers his voice. “Never?”

“Well sure I have,” Amber says. “But I still have common sense.” She pokes him in the arm. “Don’t tell me that Mr-Silent-And-Stoic has done something that stupid before?”

“Okay,” Junmyeon whispers. Apollonia is climbing out of the lake, breathless, her long hair plastered against her face. The person shushes them again, louder this time. “I won’t.”

“Oh I _definitely_ want this story later.”

** August 4, 1987 **

“Wait, wait, _wait_ hold on.” Junmyeon gasps as Sehun pushes him against the tree off to the farside of Baekhyun’s backyard. “Sehun, _wait_, we can’t do this here!”

“Why not?” Sehun mouths at his neck. “It’s not like we were having all that much fun inside.” He grips at Junmyeon’s hips, pulling them flush against his own, making Junmyeon moan. “And anyways, it’s dark. It’s not like anyone can see us out here.”

“That’s not the point, it’s just. . .” He squeezes his eyes shut and moans, pressing his shoulders into the rough bark of the redwood when Sehun rubs his hand over his rapidly hardening dick.

“It’s just?” Sehun whispers in his ear, his tongue flicking out to suck on his lobe.

“There’s a party!” Junmyeon says, trying his best to stay focused on the words coming out of his mouth. “Right there! Anyone could find us.”

“Kinda makes it more fun though, doesn’t it?” Sehun undoes the button fly of Junmyeon’s jeans with quick fingers, slipping his hand down to rub at the skin right above Junmyeon’s underwear. He leans down to kiss Junmyeon on the mouth, hot and deep. “We can do it quickly,” he murmurs as he pulls away. “I promise I’ll make it fast for you.”

Junmyeon watches as Sehun sinks down, kneeling in the grass. Junmyeon instinctively places a hand in Sehun’s hair, rubbing his fingers lightly across his scalp, the way Sehun likes it. Sehun grips at his hips again, his fingers hot on Junmyeon’s exposed skin. He rubs his face against Junmyeon’s bulge, humming softly.

“I thought you said quick, baby,” Junmyeon whispers. He can hear laughter booming over the bass of the music playing inside Baekhyun’s house, the party still going strong. It’s packed in there and anyone could come out here looking for a quiet place to smoke a cigarette and spot them here, Sehun mouthing at Junmyeon’s dick. 

Somehow that turns him on even more.

“It will be quick,” Sehun says. He pulls Junmyeon’s briefs down to his knees and then takes him all the way down his throat in one motion.

Junmyeon closes his eyes and gasps. 

Yeah. It’ll be quick.

** July 27, 1984 **

“What do you want?” Junmyeon asks as they approach the concessions counter. “Just popcorn?”

Sehun bends down to peer at the candy selection behind the glass case. “Popcorn, yeah,” he says. “But can we also get gummy bears?”

“Gummy bears?” Junmyeon raises his eyebrows. 

“Hey, don’t judge me,” Sehun says as he straightens up. “I always get gummy bears when I go to the movies. I like them.”

Junmyeon puts his hands up defensively. “No judgement here. I just think it’s kinda cute.” He turns to the bored teenager with a spiked blue mohawk behind the counter. “Can we get a medium popcorn, two Sprites, and one bag of gummy bears?” 

The cashier just nods and turns around to start filling the popcorn.

“Are you as excited as I am?” Sehun whispers, leaning in. 

“I think that’s impossible.” Junmyeon takes his wallet out of his jeans pocket and pays the $11 dollars when the kid comes back with the drinks and snacks. He hands the pack of Haribo gummy bears and one of the sodas to Sehun. “But I’m still pretty excited.”

They turn down the red carpeted hallway and hand their tickets to the usher, who directs them to their theatre. “Purple Rain is in theatre six,” she says. “All the way down the hall and it’s the last door on the left.”

Junmyeon and Sehun thank her and go to find their seats, settling in at the very back of the theatre.

They’re early--Sehun had made them leave Junmyeon’s apartment an hour before the movie time, afraid that tickets would sell out on opening night. They hadn’t, of course, but at least they had their pick of seats.

There’s only a small handful of people sitting in the theatre, and their soft chatter filled the dead air around them. Tucked in the back and away from prying eyes, Sehun slips his hand in Junmyeon’s own, maneuvering around the popcorn balanced between them.

“Thanks for going to this with me,” Sehun says, sincerely. 

“Of course.” Junmyeon gives Sehun’s hand a gentle squeeze. “I get to see this movie _and_ I get to go on a date with you?” He grins at Sehun. “How the hell could I say no?” He swats Sehun’s free hand away from the popcorn. “Don’t eat it all before the movie even starts!” Sehun pouts at him.

They trade stories about their days, filling each other in on the hours that they’d spent apart. Sehun tells him all about the new volunteer, Seulgi, that they hired at the clinic to staff the front desk and how the two of them spent the slow afternoon rearranging all the furniture in the waiting room. Junmyeon hangs on to every word because if he’s learned anything over the past few months, its that listening to Sehun is one of the few true bright lights of his day.

They talk until the theatre fills, until the lights go down. Sehun squeezes his hand when the previews finally end. 

The Warner Brothers logo eases on the screen.

_Ladies and Gentlemen, The Revolution._

Prince’s unmistakable silhouette appears, clutching a guitar, awash in purple light.

_Dearly beloved, we are gathered here to get through this thing called life._

Junmyeon holds his breath.

\----

Purple Rain is. . .not a very good movie, Junmyeon decides about thirty minutes in. The plot is loose if he’s being generous. The acting is. . .slightly below mediocre. But it is fun. 

The audience sings along to all of the songs, as The Kid and The Revolution fight it out against The Time in the Battle of the Bands. It’s fun to root for The Kid as he tries to win over Apollonia and to watch him ride around Minneapolis on his comically large motorcycle. 

Purple Rain is not a good movie, not by any measure. But watching it there, with Sehun next to him, makes it one of the best things that Junmyeon has ever seen.

\----

“So, did you like it?” Junmyeon asks Sehun as they walk out onto the street together.

“It wasn’t great,” Sehun says, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. “But it was fun, you know?”

Junmyeon can’t help but smile. “Yeah, I feel exactly the same way. Do you have a clearer idea of what ‘purple rain’ means now?” Junmyeon asks.

“Not a goddamn clue,” Sehun says with a shrug. “But I guess that that’s not the point?”

“Maybe not.”

“So you gonna go with me to see it again next week?” Sehun asks with a smirk.

“That’s unfair because you know I can’t say no to you.”

“That’s kind of the point, Junmyeon.”

“Well then, yes.” Junmyeon sighs. “I’ll see it as many times as you want to.”

“I’m gonna hold you to that.”

** May 17, 1985 **

Junmyeon has felt adrift since the ceremony that morning. He’d barely paid attention while the President had given his remarks and he can’t even remember walking across the stage, shaking hands with his department chair and being handed his degree. All he knows is that it’s over. He’s _done_. He’s graduated, been given a stamp of approval by the University of California, Berkeley to go out into the world and be a functional, adult member of society.

But before that, there’s Baekhyun’s party.

After four years of living together, and three years sharing the same apartment, Baekhyun has decided to move out, finally moving in with Kyungsoo. To commemorate this momentous occasion--Baekhyun’s words, not Junmyeon’s-- Baekhyun decided to throw a graduation-slash-housewarming party in his new, still mostly empty apartment. There’s hardly any furniture, as a consequence of the fact that neither Kyungsoo nor Baekhyun have moved in yet, so there’s only one couch that Kyungsoo had found at Goodwill and Junmyeon and Sehun had helped them lug into their living room yesterday afternoon.

And now the house is full of people, filling the vacant rooms with their bodies as they drink and dance to the music playing off of the boombox that Sehun had brought over. Junmyeon has never seen a party so packed. There are people _everywhere_, milling about in the kitchen, talking and drinking, in the hallway, spilling out onto the front yard. The living room has been turned into a dance floor where what have to be almost forty people are dancing and shout-singing along to Sheila E.’s The Glamorous Life. There’s only one light in the living room, a table lamp with no table, stuck on the floor in the corner. It casts a tiny pool of orange light, not strong enough to light the whole room, but just strong enough to cast everyone in a long, deep shadow, making the room feel twice as full as all the bodies dance alongside their dark ghosts.

The euphoria of another school year over--of having graduated--is so thick that Junmyeon feels like, if he tried, he could cup some of it in his hands.

“Are you gonna tell Baekhyun that his hair is a mistake or should I?” Chanyeol looks pained. “It’s just so _bad_.” 

Junmyeon is standing in the entryway to the living room with Chanyeol, Jongin and Sehun. From where they’re standing they have a clear view of Baekhyun who’s in the kitchen, mixing punch in one of the giant bowls he’d brought over from his and Junmyeon’s apartment.

And more importantly, they have a clear view of Baekyun’s new hair.

Jongin laughs, covering his mouth with the back of his free hand. “Be nice, Chanyeol. It’s not so bad.”

Baekhyun had recently cut his too long hair into a mullet, streaking it with red highlights. It’s. . .a choice. Junmyeon had had to bite his tongue and smile when his roommate had come home three days before graduation with his new hair-do. If he’s anything, Junmyeon is nice.

“Oh no, it’s really bad.” Kyungsoo comes up behind them, grimacing. “I’ve been trying to talk him out of it for months now, but he’s convinced that this is the look for him.”

“He kind of looks like a fucked up Ziggy Stardust,” Sehun says. 

“Now _that’s_ a niche reference,” Kyungsoo says.

“Leave it to Sehun to swoop in with the little-known music trivia,” Jongin says.

“It’s fucking _Bowie_.” Sehun scowls at them. “That’s not even niche. Junmyeon, be the tie-breaker.”

“Me?” Junmyeon shakes his head. “Why me?”

“Because you’re neutral,” Chanyeol says over Jongin’s cackling. 

“He’s hardly neutral,” Kyungsoo retorts. “He’s literally sleeping with Sehun.”

Junmyeon feels his face turn bright red. 

“Doesn’t mean he can’t have an opinion!” Sehun says.

“He can have an opinion,” Kyungsoo says, deadpan, “but it doesn’t mean that it’s gonna be objective.” 

“Oookay, on that note, I’m just gonna leave before this gets any more heated,” Junmyeon says, worming his way out of Sehun’s embrace. 

“You can’t leave!” Jongin shouts after him as he escapes to the kitchen. “We haven’t resolved this!”

Junmyeon ducks through the crowd until he makes it to the countertop where Baekhyun is still stirring the punch bowl. From this close up, the smell of all the alcohol that Baekhyun has blended together hits Junmyeon in full force, making his eyes water.

“Think you got enough alcohol in there, Baekhyun?” he asks. 

“Shut up,” Baekhyun says, not looking up from the bowl. “It’s not done yet, once I add the ginger ale and the sherbet it’ll get watered down. Speaking of which, can you grab the thing of sherbet out of the freezer?”

Junmyeon doubles back to the fridge at the other end of the kitchen, maneuvering around the group of girls in bright polyester dresses and high ponytails to reach the freezer. There’s a massive tub of rainbow sherbet at the front and he grabs it, lugging it back to where Baekhyun is playing mixologist.

“Thanks,” Baekhyun says. He takes the plastic lid off the container and starts scooping huge amounts of sherbet into the bowl.

“Is this supposed to be good?” Junmyeon asks, as he hops up to sit on the counter. He eyes the punch bowl skeptically.

“I’m just making alcoholic sherbet punch, Junmyeon, I’m not reinventing the wheel,” Baekhyun says. “Hand me that bottle of ginger ale, please.”

Junmyeon unscrews the two-liter bottle sitting on the counter next to him and gives it to Baekhyun who dumps it all into the bowl. Everything fizzes together, the sherbet colors blending into a chaotic kaleidoscope. Baekhyun gives it a stir, his tongue peeking out of the corner of his mouth in concentration. He scoops up a bit in the spoon and brings it to his lips. Satisfied, he nods.

Baekhyun takes a Styrofoam cup from where they’re neatly stacked next to him and dips it into the punch. He hands the dripping cup to Junmyeon.

“Here,” Baekhyun says. “Try it.”

Junmyeon takes a tentative sip. Sugar and ginger ale explode across his tongue, cutting through the harsh tang of the alcohol.

“It’s good,” Junmyeon says, surprised. “It tastes like an adult version of the sherbet punch we used to get at Temple when I was a kid.”

Baekhyun grins. “I told you it would be good.” He fixes himself a cup and hops up on the counter next to Junmyeon.

They sit there in a comfortable silence, sipping on their drinks. They watch the party move in front of them, grooving along to the music playing in the living room.

“It’s weird, isn’t it?” Baekhyun says. “That we’ve graduated and that we won’t be living together anymore. It feels like the end of an era.”

Junmyeon nods. It’s been hard, he hasn’t wanted to say anything to Baekhyun, but ever since he’d told Junmyeon that he and Kyungsoo had been considering moving in together, Junmyeon had felt a sense of dread collect in the pit of his stomach. Baekhyun has been one of his closest friends since they’d been paired as roommates during their freshman year in the dorms. Baekhyun--for all his teasing, with all his noise--has been one of the only real constants in his life. That first night freshman year, Baekhyun had plopped himself on Junmyeon’s bed, bold as you please, and demanded that Junmyeon tell him everything about himself.

_We’re gonna be roommates now_, Baekhyun had said. _So, obviously, we need to know everything there is to know about one another. I’ll start. Name: Baekhyun Byun. Born in San Francisco, mom and dad are from South Korea. I’m 18, I’m gay so if you have a problem with that we’re gonna have to work out some sort of arrangement so that we never see each other again. Probably gonna major in music. I play the piano and I like to sing. Your turn. _

Junmyeon, after spending his whole life hiding so much of himself, trying his best to be perfect and quiet, and small, hadn’t known what to say.

So Baekhyun had walked him through it.

_Ok so let’s start small. Name?_

_Junmyeon Kim._

_Age?_

_19._

_Birthplace?_

_Seoul, South Korea._

_What are you gonna major in?_

_Probably math. Or computation science. _

_Oooo we’ve got a nerd, guys and gals! So, girlfriend?_

_Um. Not anymore. We recently broke up._

_Looking for love, then?_

_Not really on the agenda._

_Got a problem with gays?_

_N-no. Not at all._

_Cool. I think we’re gonna be friends, Junmyeon._

And Baekhyun had been right. Once the initial shock of well, _Baekhyun_, had worn off, they’d become close. Baekhyun has the biggest heart out of anyone Junmyeon had ever met. He was patient with Junmyeon during that first year, willing to wait for him to ease out of his shell. He took Junmyeon to his first college party, he introduced Junmyeon to all of his friends. He was always somehow acutely attuned to Junmyeon’s feelings, even when Junmyeon didn’t want to talk. But Baekhyun would just sit there, keeping him company. Always letting him know that he was there to listen. Junmyeon never really made many friends throughout college, he hadn’t really needed to. Because he had Baekhyun. So when Baekhyun had floated the idea of moving into an off campus apartment for their sophomore year, Junmyeon had jumped at the chance. Baekhyun meant that much to him.

“It kind of is the end of an era,” Junmyeon says. He takes another sip of his punch. “We’ve graduated. We’ve both got jobs lined up. You and Kyungsoo are finally moving in together. Things are different now.”

Baekhyun smiles softly and nods. “Yeah,” he says. “It’s like we’ve finally grown up.”

“That’s a big step for you, especially.” Junmyeon nudges his friend with his elbow, teasingly. “Who would have thought that the great Baekhyun Byun would ever fall into the cold embrace of adulthood?”

Baekhyun winks at him. “Oh you know. I figured it was time to try out something new. Being a kid forever isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. And anyways, if I’m gonna be teaching kids, I should probably at least pretend to be an adult.”

“Are you nervous? To be teaching music?”

Baekhyun shrugs. “Maybe a little bit. But I like kids. And I like music. So maybe it’ll be good.” He drinks more of his punch. “But the real question is, are _you_ nervous?”

“Nervous about what?”

“Living alone,” Baekhyun says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I’m almost positive that you don’t want to move back in with your mom and grandma, right? Unless I’ve been reading you wrong this whole time.”

“I don’t want to move back in with them,” Junmyeon says. He drains his cup. “But I’m not really nervous about living alone. I mean, I am nervous, but not about that. I don’t think.”

“Then what are you nervous about?”

“I’ve been thinking,” Junmyeon starts. “About, maybe. Asking Sehun to move in with me?”

Baekhyun’s eyebrows shoot up into his bangs. Chanyeol and the others are right. Baekhyun’s hair is absolutely ridiculous.

“Oh damn.” Baekhyun whistles low. “Are you afraid that he’s not gonna say yes?”

Junmyeon shrugs. Something swirls in his stomach. “I hope so,” he says honestly. “I can’t think of. . .anyone else that I’d want to live there with me. Baekhyun, I--” Junmyeon takes a deep breath. Holds it. Exhales. “I never thought that I’d feel like this about someone, you know? I never thought that I’d ever be able to. . .be with someone that I actually want, you know?”

Baekhyun places a hand on Junmyeon’s knee, squeezing reassuringly. 

“Oh, Junmyeon. I know how it feels, trust me. I feel like I got lucky since my parents are and have always been really supportive of me. I’ve never felt like I had to hide any part of myself. You’ve never said it, but I’ve always kind of figured that your mom and grandma wouldn’t be ok with you being gay, right?”

Junmyeon nods. He doesn’t want to say the words out loud. And how could he, anyways? He and Sehun have been together for over a year now, but sometimes, the entire thing feels so huge, so intimate that Junmyeon still feels like what he has, what he’s feeling is forbidden, like he’s clinging on to something that he should have never had the ability to even dream about touching.

“Well let me tell you this, then,” Baekhyun says as softly as the noise of the party will allow, “you are allowed to have this. You are allowed to want this. You’re allowed to want to seek out forever with Sehun, if that’s what you think you both want. So if you want him to move in with you, then, well. Fucking go for it.” Baekhyun looks out across the kitchen and into the living room where Sehun is sitting on the sofa with Kyungsoo and Jongin, laughing at something. “Something tells me that there’s no doubt that he’ll say yes.”

Junmyeon swallows his next breath. “You think so?”

Baekhyun laughs. “Are you fucking kidding me? Sehun may not have said it, but that kid loves you, Junmyeon. He loves you so much. And maybe I’m jumping the gun here, but knowing you as well as I know you, I’d be damned if I’m wrong about how crazy you are about him too.” Baekhyun’s face softens. “You don’t realize how much you’ve changed since you two started seeing each other, do you? It’s like Sehun walked into your life and you melted. It’s like you finally opened up. You smile so much more. You seem more sure of yourself and more. . .like yourself? Does that make sense? You seem more like the person you were always meant to be. And it’s so fucking beautiful to see, Junmyeon. I’m so fucking happy for you.”

Junmyeon squeezes his cup in his hand. In a way, he gets where Baekhyun is coming from. When he’s with Sehun. . .it’s like the whole world shifts into focus. Junmyeon feels like his life is actually _his_, like Sehun has shown Junmyeon that he can hold the entire world in his hands. Sehun has made him smile, he’s shown him spontaneity, he’s given him more life than Junmyeon could ever imagine living.

“Yeah,” Junmyeon says, “I feel like Sehun’s done that for me too.”

Baekhyun claps him on the shoulder. “Then you should ask him,” he says. “Do it.”

“Now?”

“Why the fuck not?” Baekhyun says. “It’s not like you’re doing anything better right now, anyways.”

Junmyeon looks towards where Sehun is still laughing on the couch, leaning his head against Kyungsoo’s shoulder. 

“Right,” Junmyeon says, taking a deep breath. “Alright.” He puts his empty cup down and gets down from the counter.

Baekhyun grins. “But before you do that, you tiny idiot, give me a hug.”

“Why?”

“Because I feel like we just had a really sentimental moment and I don’t know how many more of those we’re gonna have once we’re both shacked up with our boyfriends.”

Junmyeon laughs, a big ebullient sound. He reaches up to twine his arms around Baekhyun’s middle. The angle is off because Baekhyun is still up on the counter, but Junmyeon doesn’t care. His entire life is full of changes right now, but holding on to Baekhyun like this feels solid. It feels stable. It feels like one of his few, true constants.

“Love you, you tiny idiot,” Baekhyun whispers as they pull apart. 

“Stop calling me that,” Junmyeon says, laughter heavy in his voice.

“Never,” Baekhyun replies. He wiggles his eyebrows at him. “You’re tiny. And you’re a bit of an idiot sometimes. It fits.”

Junmyeon rolls his eyes at his friend. “Love you too though,” he says. “You know that right?”

Baekhyun smiles at him. “Of course. Now stop stalling and go do what you were told.” He shoos Junmyeon away with a wave of his hand.

Junmyeon goes back into the melee, worming his way across the packed living room, turned dance floor, until he reaches the sofa.

Sehun leans away from Kyungsoo when he approaches and smiles. “You’re back,” he says with a smile.

“I’m back,” Junmyeon confirms. “Guys, do you mind if I borrow Sehun?”

Kyungsoo and Jongin shrug in unison. “Do whatever you want,” Jongin says. “We were just starting to get tired of him anyways.”

“That’s rude as hell and you know it,” Sehun says as he stands up. “Take me away from these assholes, Junmyeon.” He smiles down at him.

Junmyeon takes Sehun’s hand, hoping that he can’t feel the pounding of his pulse through their joined palms.

“Let’s go outside for a second?”

Sehun looks at him quizzically, but nods. “Alright.”

They go out to Baekhyun and Kyungsoo’s tiny backyard. It’s chilly out, the temperature having dropped with the sun. Junmyeon shivers and Sehun draws him close.

“You cold?” Sehun murmurs into his hair.

“Yeah. It’s colder than I thought it would be.” Sehun’s body is warm and solid but Junmyeon shivers again, his nerves getting the better of him again.

Sehun tightens his hold. “Everything alright?” he asks, softly.

Junmyeon nods into Sehun’s chest and snakes his arms up Sehun’s back.

“Everything is fine.” Junmyeon draws back to look Sehun in the eyes. “I. . .uh. I just have something to ask you.”

Sehun frowns in confusion. “Yeah, of course, Junmyeon. Anything.” 

“Move in with me?” Junmyeon blurts out. He doesn’t know how else to ask. 

“You want me to what?” Sehun looks at him with huge eyes.

“Move in with me. I mean. Baekhyun’s left. And it’s just me all alone in the apartment. And now that I’ve graduated and now that I’m gonna be working, I won’t be able to see you on campus and stuff. So. It’d be nice.” Junmyeon frees one arm to rub at the back of his neck nervously. “If you lived with me? If we lived together? I know that you probably don’t want to leave Chanyeol and Jongin, but I. I’d love to have you nearby all the time. You know.” Junmyeon clears his throat. “And plus, I feel like I’d be too lonely if I lived on my own.” 

Sehun’s smile is the most brilliant thing in the night. “Scared of the dark, Junmyeon? Is that it?” He pulls their bodies back together.

Junmyeon blushes but winds his arms up around Sehun’s neck. He slips his fingers underneath the chain of his necklace, running the links through his fingers. “Something like that,” he says.

Sehun tightens his hold, and leans down, burying his face in Junmyeon’s hair. “Yes,” he murmurs into the top of his head. “I’d love to. I’ll try my best to fight off the darkness for you.”

Relief washes over Junmyeon. He pulls back to kiss Sehun on the chin. “I’m so glad,” he says.

** September 4, 1991, Take Nine. **

Even after all this time, Junmyeon still isn’t used to waking up alone. 

He’d woken up a little past five am and, unable to fall back asleep, he lay on his back in silence, watching as the light coming through the window went from blue-black to the silver-ash of the rain soaked early morning.

It’s mornings like this that are the hardest. On a morning like this in different lifetime, Junmyeon would have rolled towards Sehun, seeking out his touch, letting Sehun’s comfort ease him into the new day. 

But now, Junmyeon wakes up alone. He’s woken up alone everyday for a year and a half. It never really gets any easier.

Junmyeon pulls the sheets up to his neck. He feels so cold, like all the rainwater that’s collected in his chest has frozen, icing over each of his breaths. He shivers and turns over. 

He’s never liked waking up alone.

_Gooooood morning, Portland! It’s 7:15 on September 4, 1991! Happy Wednesday! It’s another wet one out there, so grab your umbrellas and raincoats!_

He hits snooze.

** August 17, 1984 **

“Pull over over there.” Sehun points to the empty patch of grass and sand facing the water. 

“There?” Junmyeon looks at him, confused. “Why there?”

“Why not there?” Sehun doesn’t make eye contact with him. He’s been in a strange mood all night, ever since he’d called Junmyeon right before 10 pm and asked him to come pick him up from the Ashby BART station. Something in the way that Sehun had sounded over the phone, in the way he’d choked on his syllables, made Junmyeon jump into his car and speed the two miles to the station. He found Sehun still standing by the pay phone, arms folded across his chest, staring out into the fog, looking at nothing in particular. 

“Just drive,” Sehun had said once he’d gotten into the car, sounding as dazed as the late night fog.

“Where are we going?” Junmyeon had never seen him like this. Never this locked away, never this distant.

“Doesn’t matter.” Sehun shifted in his seat, turning towards the passenger side window. “Just drive.”

So Junmyeon had revved up his car’s antique engine and did just that, driving towards campus. Classes don’t start again for another week and campus and the surrounding area are empty. Junmyeon circled the perimeter, driving around slowly, trying to give Sehun as much motion as he needs. It’s strange to see Sehun like this, curled up tight in his seat, forehead pressed against the cold windowpane, silent. This isn’t the Sehun that he’d come to know; not the Sehun glittering with playfulness, not the person who’d scrawled his phone number on the back on Junmyeon’s hand in handwriting as bold and brash as he pleased.

And Junmyeon didn’t know what to do. So he drove. Campus is a little eerie like this, with nothing filling the footpaths and parking lots but the moonlight. He’d driven around the area until the campus started to feel claustrophobic and then he pulled off, speeding down University Avenue. He hadn’t really registered where he was headed until he made the last left turn, heading down to the marina.

And now he still doesn’t know what to do, parked here, pulled up alongside the docked boats, almost spectral in the way that they silently float and bob on the current.

He looks over at Sehun who is still staring out the window, looking out towards the water.

Junmyeon shifts in his seat, suddenly feeling a deep-summer cold settle over his skin.

“Sehun,” Junmyeon tries. “Are you okay?”

Sehun doesn’t answer him, doesn’t even turn towards Junmyeon’s voice.

“Sehun?” Junmyeon doesn’t know what to do. 

“Can you put on something?” Sehun whispers, at last. He still doesn’t turn away from the window. “Do you have any music on you?”

“Y-yeah,” Junmyeon studders. “I think I still have Purple Rain in the player?” He leans forward and messes with the console, pressing play. He hadn’t rewound the cassette since they’d last listened to it and it picks up at the tail-end of Baby I’m A Star, just as the last few notes are fading out. There’s that tiny beat of silence and then Purple Rain’s opening chords play, the music swelling in the car’s tiny cabin.

Junmyeon drapes himself over the steering wheel, closing his eyes, letting the song wash over him like a summer downpour. He can’t count how many times he’s listened to this song since he’d gone with Sehun to buy the album, but the effect has never worn off. Every time it seems like it carries a whole entire world of emotion and longing and heartbreak. The entire weight of the flooding world.

“My brother called me today,” Sehun says at the height of the guitar solo. 

Junmyeon opens his eyes and looks over at his boyfriend. Sehun is still staring out the window.

“I. . .didn’t know you had a brother,” Junmyeon says. He turns down the music. 

“I might as well not have one.” Sehun’s voice is tight. “I think he’d prefer it if I didn’t exist.”

“What did he want?” Junmyeon wants to crawl across the center console, curl up next to Sehun, absorb the sharp sadness emanating from him.

“Nothing,” Sehun says. “Money. My dad’s business isn’t doing well right now. My brother wanted to know if I could send them money.”

Junmyeon doesn’t know what to do with this information. Sehun has never talked about his family before, has never really spoken about his life back in Los Angeles. Junmyeon knows nothing about his parents or his brother or what anything was like for him growing up. It’s strange, then. That a call from Sehun’s brother seems to shatter him so thoroughly. 

“But you’re just a student,” Junmyeon says, confused. It’s one thing to ask your son to come home and help with the family business, but it’s another to ask them for money. “Why would you have money to send them?”

“Ask them.” Sehun shifts so that he’s facing forward, staring out the windshield. He curls in on himself, bringing his long legs up so that he can rest his face on his knees. 

They fall into silence again, the song playing itself out until the last notes fade. At a loss for something to do, Junmyeon ejects the tape, flipping it back to side A to rewind. They listen together to the dull whirring of the cassette as it resets itself. There’s the click as it finishes and Sehun reaches forward, pressing play.

_Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to get through this thing called life._

The car suddenly feels too close and tight around Junmyeon. “Do you want to sit on the hood?” Junmyeon asks. 

“Of the car?” Sehun looks at him, confused. 

“Yeah. It’s a nice night.” Junmyeon turns up the music, as loud as it will go. “Come on,” he says as he opens his door and gets out.

It’s chillier down here, the breeze cool and water soaked as it surrounds him. Junmyeon clamors up onto the hood of his car and lays down, his back against the cold glass of the windshield. The music spills out and into the night, just loud enough to mix in with the wind. 

Junmyeon takes a deep breath. He lets it out slowly. He folds his hands over his stomach, and he feels it there. The knot of unease and hopelessness that’d developed steadily since Sehun had called him, his voice fractured with hurt. Junmyeon wants to make it easier, make Sehun smile again, take away the anguish that’s lurking right behind his eyes. He wants to take care of him. But that’s not something he knows how to do. Sehun is still an unfinished puzzle; his grief and anger are still pieces that Junmyeon hasn’t quite figured out how to place. But he wants to, he realizes. He wants that more than anything. He wants to understand Sehun, all of him. As much of him as possible.

There’s a soft creak as the passenger side door opens wide and Sehun finally climbs up too, laying next to him, so close that their shoulders brush. They lay there in the same silence that had filled the car, staring up at the stars, muted by the light pollution coming from freeway. They let the rest of side A play out and when it ends, Sehun goes back inside to flip it, starting side B.

Somewhere halfway through When Doves Cry, Sehun slides over, pillowing his head on Junmyeon’s chest. Junmyeon instinctively places a hand in Sehun’s hair, running his fingers through the thick strands. Sehun had let his hair grow out over the summer, growing long enough to brush the nape of his neck. Junmyeon likes it, likes the way Sehun’s hair frames his face, likes the way that Sehun keeps pushing his too long bangs out his eyes, likes the little look of exasperation that crosses Sehun’s face every time his hair gets in the way.

There are a lot of things that Junmyeon likes about Sehun. Lots of little things.

“Thank you,” Sehun murmurs into his chest. “I don’t know how, but this has made it better. Even if only a little bit.”

Junmyeon reaches down to grasp Sehun’s hand in his own. “You’re welcome, Sehun,” he says, softly. “You can always come to me if you need to. I. . .want to be able to make you feel better. I’m here for you.”

Sehun nods against his chest. “Just being around you. . .that makes it better too,” he says. “You make it better like that. Just by being here.”

“Then promise that you’ll always call me?” Junmyeon says. “If you need me? So I can make it better?”

“I promise. As long as you promise to always answer?”

Junmyeon smiles up at the stars. “Always.”

** November 30, 1985 **

“I need to go visit a friend,” Sehun says when Junmyeon steps off the bus. “Then we can head to the party.”

“A friend?” Junmyeon asks. “Is he someone I know?”

Sehun shakes his head. “No. He’s someone that I know from outside of school. Someone I know from the clinic.”

“Oh.” There’s something weird about the tone of Sehun’s voice--it rings hollow in Junmyeon’s ears, empty of it’s usual warmth. “Ok.”

“It won’t take long,” Sehun says. “The place is right around the corner.”

They make their way down the sidewalk quietly. The strange energy radiating from Sehun doesn’t fade and JunmyeonThe Castro is alive, crowds streaming up and down the street, people dressed in tight spandex and colors, probably headed to a party like Sehun and Junmyeon. Music is pouring out of the candy colored houses, blaring into the street. Some people call out to Sehun and he smiles and waves back, wishing them a happy Saturday night.

They turn a corner and a hush falls over the block and the contrast is almost eerie compared to the lights and livelihood that they left behind.

“It’s right here.” They come to a stop in front of a pale pink Victorian, sitting high on the incline. It’s a beautiful house, with the type of intricate white trim and during the day, it’s probably the type of place that looks like it was plucked out of one of those European fairy tales with princesses and knights. But tonight, its heavy with darkness and gloom. From where he’s standing, Junmyeon can see that all of the windows are dark, all of them save a room on the top level where a weak glow paints the glass orange.

Trusting Sehun nonetheless, Junmyeon follows his boyfriend up the steps to the front door. Sehun rings the antique doorbell and they wait--ten seconds, twenty seconds--and then Junmyeon heards the soft patter of footsteps coming down the hallway. There’s the sound of the bolt being unlatched and then the door opens.

“Sehun.” The man standing in the threshold is familiar, Junmyeon vaguely recognizes from one of the thousand parties and gatherings that Sehun had taken him to. He’s around Junmyeon’s height and has dyed brown hair and the prettiest eyes Junmyeon has ever seen. “I didn’t know you were still coming.” His voice is hushed, like he’s afraid of speaking too loudly.

“Sorry for not following up, Minseok,” Sehun whispers back, “I lost track of time. Is now still good?”

“It’s fine,” Minseok says. He steps back and gives them more room to enter. “He’s not asleep yet. Mark and I are sitting up with him. He wants us to read to him.”

Sehun nods and follows Minseok inside. Junmyeon trails in behind them, unsure of what to say. 

“Glad I could still make it in time. You remember my boyfriend, Junmyeon right?” Sehun says as they toe off their shoes.

Minseok looks at him and smiles. “How could I forget?” From this close, Junmyeon can see how tired he looks. His face seems drawn and gray and he has deep blue-black bags under his eyes. His pretty, pretty eyes. “We met a while back, at the party at Baekhyun’s place. It’s nice to see you again.”

“You too,” Junmyeon replies. It all clicks together and he remembers being half-drunk, talking to Minseok in the Baekhyun’s kitchen two or so months ago. Minseok and Sehun know each other from their work at the clinic where Minseok is one of the outreach coordinators. Minseok had spent the night telling Junmyeon about how he thought of Sehun as the little brother he’d never had. The two of them were close.

They go down the dark hallway and up a narrow staircase.

“Is anyone else here?” Sehun asks. “Besides you and Mark and Jamie?”

“There’s two other guys in the spare bedroom upstairs,” Minseok replies. “And one in the basement room.”

“Isn’t that a lot for you to handle?” Sehun asks.

“Kinda,” Minseok replies. “But I’m not doing it alone. Mark’s been helping a lot. So have Johnny and Lucas. And Joy and Seulgi have been taking shifts all week when I’ve been tied up at the clinic. So. It could always be worse.”

“But Yunho is out of town, though?”

Minseok nods. He leads them down the dark upstairs hallway and stops at the open bathroom door. He turns on the light. “You both should wash your hands in here.” Sehun nods, turns on the faucet and starts soaping up his palms. At a loss of what to do, Junmyeon just follows along.

“But yes,” Minseok continues. He leans against the hallway wall. “Yunho’s out of town right now. He’s been in LA all week. He should be back on Monday morning.” Junmyeon rises the soap off his hands and then dries them on the towel, hanging on the rack.

“You both ready?” Minseok asks.

Sehun nods. Minseok takes them a little further down the hall and they stop at the door at the very end. A soft strip of light is leaking out from underneath. Minseok raps lightly on the door. 

“Hey,” he calls out, quietly. “Jamie, Sehun is here to see you.”

There’s some rustling and then someone calls out: “Come in.”

Minseok opens the door. The bedroom is small, almost too small for everything crammed in there. The walls are covered in wallpaper, pale green with tiny white and yellow flowers curling up and down the print. There’s a single window hung with gauzy white drapes overlooking the street, the same window, Junmyeon realizes, that he had seen from the sidewalk. There’s an antique white washed dresser and an oval mirror hangs on the wall above it. A 50s style lamp is perched on a tiny table in a corner, casting the orange glow on the room. There’s an old wooden rocking chair where another man in a gray crewneck sweatshirt--Mark?--is sitting with a paperback spread open across his lap. _Song of Solomon_. But it’s the bed, and the person laying in it, that draw Junmyeon’s attention.

Junmyeon doesn’t have a lot of memories from Korea, but he remembers going to the park with his grandfather once in the early spring. He’d wandered off on his own and spotted something stirring in the grass. When he went closer to investigate he saw a baby bird, new and tiny, squirming feebly in the grass, still dry and brown from winter’s touch. The bird hadn’t grown any feathers yet and Junmyeon had been fascinated by its pink, thin skin and it’s huge, huge eyes. 

_“Where’s its mommy?” _he’d asked when his grandfather had caught up with him.

_“Not here. She probably can’t take care of him.”_

_“Is he going to be ok without her?”_

_“No,” his grandfather had said, “Probably not. It’s hard for a child to survive like this on their own.”_

The man on the bed reminds him of that bird. His body looks like it’s been whittled away, until all that’s left is skin and bones. His eyes look too big for his head and his skin, translucent and paper-fragile, is stretched tight against his skull. He looks bird-like. He looks small. He looks like he might not make it.

“Sehun,” he says, his voice is strong and full, like the sickness couldn’t touch it. He smiles at them and his lips stretch painfully across his face. “I’ve missed you. I’m so glad you came.”

Sehun smiles at him, a wistful warm smile, and goes over to the bed, taking one of the man’s hands in his own.

“Hey Jamie,” he says, his voice gentle. “I missed you too. But you know that I had to make sure that I came to see you. How are you doing?”

The man--Jamie-- smiles up at Sehun. “I’m doing alright,” he says, his voice rasping. “Not my best, but as good as it’s gonna be.” He looks over at Mark in the corner. “Mark and Minseok have been taking really good care of me. Mark is reading _Song of Solomon _ to me. You know how much I love that book.” 

Mark nods at them both, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. His eyes are red and he looks like he’s been crying. “He keeps on making me reread different passages,” Mark says. “Over and over again.”

“Because I want to remember them,” Jamie retorts. “Because they’re so perfect.”

Mark smiles and shakes his head at him.

“And lots of people have been coming to see me,” Jamie continues. “So I’m not alone. It’s not so bad.”

Junmyeon watches as Sehun squeezes his hand and nods at him. “That’s good,” he says. “I’m glad to hear it.” Sehun straightens up and looks towards Junmyeon.

“Jamie,” Sehun says. “I brought someone with me.” Junmyeon steps closer to the bed. “This is my boyfriend, Junmyeon.”

Jamie looks at him with those huge baby bird eyes. His eyes are misty, the irises gone purple with the illness.

“Nice to meet you Junmyeon, finally,” Jamie says. “Sehun has told me so much about you over the past year. I’m so glad that he found someone to love and to love him.” Jamie smiles at him. “You’ve made him so happy.”

Junmyeon looks at how thin and frail and scared Jamie looks in the giant white bed. He suddenly feels too warm.

“It’s nice to meet you too, Jamie,” he replies. He takes a deep breath and looks into Jamie’s eyes. They seem bottomless.

“I heard that your mom wrote you back,” Sehun says. “Did it go ok?”

Jamie frowns, his whole face collapsing with the downturn of his lips. “No,” he says. His voice is small. “She said that she couldn’t come to see me. That it wouldn’t be right.” He breaks off and then squeezes his eyes shut. 

“That’s fucked.” Sehun spits the words out. “How could it not be right to see her own son?”

Jamie shakes his head. “I don’t take it personally. It’s not her fault.”

“It _is_ her fault,” Mark breaks in. “She’s the one with the prejudiced hang ups.”

Jamie shrugs, his shoulders lifting like he’s about to take flight.

“I have you all,” he says. “What more do I really need? You all love me.” He smiles at them, smiles at Junmyeon. “That’s enough.”

“I brought you something,” Sehun says, suddenly like he’s just remembering. He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a cassette tape. Jamie reaches out and takes it from him.

“A mixtape.” Jamie smiles. “I finally get a famous Sehun mixtape. All it took was for me to start dying.” His eyes scan the label. “_River_,” he says, reading the label out loud. “Weird name?”

“It’s a lot of Joni,” Sehun admits. “I know how much you love her.”

“I do love her,” Jamie says. “Mark, can you put this in the player?”

“Sure.” Mark gets up from the chair and takes the tape. He goes over to the boombox shoved on the floor and puts it in, pressing play.

_It's coming on Christmas,_

_They're cutting down trees._

_Putting up reindeer_

_Singing songs of joy and peace,_

_Oh, I wish I had a river I could skate away on. _

Junmyeon recognizes the song from nights on Sehun’s room. He’d only heard it once or twice but the way that the woman’s voice soars and shatters with the deep weight of longing and anguish has never left him.

Suddenly the room feels too hot.

“I-I’m gonna go to the bathroom,” he sputters out abruptly. Sehun shoots him a concerned look.

“You alright?” Sehun asks.

“Yeah, fine.” Junmyeon glances at the bedroom door. He can feel sweat pooling under his arms. “I’ll be right back.”

He leaves the bedroom (quickly, probably too quickly) and makes his way back to the bathroom, locking the door behind him. He sits down on the toilet lid and stares down at the crosshatch pattern in tile flooring. He exhales long and hard, trying to ground himself. He hadn’t known that one room be so full of anguish. That air could hold so much expectant grief. It makes him think of his grandfather when he got close to the end and the cancer was nibbling away at his lungs. Makes him think of endings and pain and loneliness and everything feels like too much to bear.

There’s a knock on the door.

“Junmyeon?” Minseok’s voice is muffled by the door. “Are you ok?”

“Yeah,” Junmyeon calls out. His voice cracks. “I’m fine.”

Minseok is silent for a moment, just long enough that Junmyeon starts to think that he’s left.

“Hold on, ok?” Minseok says. “I’m coming in.”

There’s a click and a jiggle as Minseok picks the lock and then the door opens. Minseok pokes his head around the frame.

His eyes soften when he sees Junmyeon curled in on himself.

“Oh, Junmyeon.” Minseok goes over and sits down on the floor across from him, his legs folded underneath him.

“It’s a lot, I know,” Minseok continues. “It’s a lot to take in all at once. I felt like this too when I first started working at the clinic.”

“What’s wrong with him?” Junmyeon asks. “With Jamie?”

“He’s dying,” Minseok says. His voice is dry, matter-of-fact. “He has AIDS. He doesn’t have much time left.”

“But he’s not in a hospital?” Junmyeon struggles to piece it all together. “Or at home with his family?”

“His family doesn’t want to see him. They rejected him a long time ago, back when he came out to them. And he can’t afford the hospital, not anymore. And it’s not worth it for him to be in there any longer, not when he’s so close to being gone. His boyfriend, Scott, he’s gone. He died six months ago. So he’s here. Our friend, Yunho, he’s associated with the clinic and he’s rich as hell. He’s a corporate lawyer and he has this extra house that he doesn’t use. So he lets the clinic use it for people who have nowhere else to go. No family.” 

“He has you all though,” Junmyeon says.

“He has us,” Minseok agrees. “They all have us. We kinda become family, in the end.” He sweeps one hand out, gesturing to the rest of the house. “We try our best. Everyone deserves to die surrounded by love, right? No one deserves to die alone.”

Junmyeon feels his whole body swell with an aching anguish. “You’re right,” he says. _ It’s hard for a child to survive like this on their own. _ His throat feels tight with tears. “No one deserves to die alone.”

“How did you handle it?” Junmyeon asks. He’s whispering. He doesn’t know why. “How do any of you handle it?”

“With time.” Minseok says. “And by talking to each other. It’s too much hurt for us to shoulder on our own.”

“Sehun never talks to me about it.” Junmyeon doesn’t know how that makes him feel. “I didn’t even know we were coming here until I got off the bus.”

“It might be intentional.” Minseok’s voice is gentle. “He might not want to mix this grief with the joy that you bring him. He probably doesn’t want to think about all of this when he’s with you. It might make it too close to home.”

Junmyeon starts to cry. Minseok reaches out and places a hand on his knee. His palm is warm.

“It’s alright,” Minseok soothes. “It’s ok.”

Junmyeon isn’t so sure. He’s never felt an ache like this. He’s never felt fear so strong, loss so tight that it feels like it’s suffocating him. Death always burns, Junmyeon has always known that. He watched his grandfather die, he remembers the ache that filled his house after Haraboegi had faded out. But this. This is different. Watching someone disintegrate, watching them lose their family, left to blink out of this world without the person who brought you into it and held you when you were small. Losing your grip on life when the person you loved left before you, leaving you to shoulder the twin agonies of despair and sickness without them close. Junmyeon has never felt this before. And it hurts. It hurts so badly. He wraps an arm around his middle and doubles over, trying not to howl in pain.

Minseok starts rubbing his back, running consoling circles along his spine.

“It’s ok,” Minseok whispers. “It’s alright.”

There’s another knock on the door. Junmyeon keeps his eyes squeezed shut as Minseok gets up. There’s whispering and then door closes again. Junmyeon opens his eyes just in time to see Sehun kneel in front of him, his brow furrowed with concern. 

“Junmyeon?” Sehun gingerly puts a hand on Junmyeon’s shoulder. It only makes him cry harder.

Junmyeon feels Sehun’s arms wrap around him and then there’s the sensation of being lifted down to sit on the tile floor. Sehun pulls him into his lap and holds him close, cradling Junmyeon against his chest.

“You can cry,” Sehun whispers into his hair. “You can.”

And Junmyeon does, burying his face into the soft cotton of Sehun’s shirt, letting his tears soak through to Sehun’s skin. He cries until he feels empty, until his soul feels wrung dry.

“It’s hard,” Sehun murmurs, once Junmyeon has quieted down. “I know. I should have done a better job of warning you about how hard this is. I’m sorry for that.”

Junmyeon tips his head back to look at Sehun. His eyes are haunted, distant. 

“It’s ok,” Junmyeon says, his voice raspy from crying. “I. . .didn’t know it would hit me that hard.”

“It hit me like that too.” Sehun hugs Junmyeon tighter. “The first time. I almost didn’t come back.”

“Then what made you decide to?”

“Because I’m afraid of being alone,” Sehun says. “I know what it feels like, kind of, to be abandoned by the people who are supposed to care for you. I know what it feels like to not really have a family because the family you were born into would prefer it if you fucking died. So I feel like it’s the least I can do, you know? To make sure that all of these people who have nowhere else to go and whose families won’t see them, won’t be alone when they go. For a little bit, for their last moments, I get to be their family.”

Junmyeon doesn’t know what to say.

“I never told you why I left LA early,” Sehun continues. “Why I graduated high school a year ahead of Jongin.”

Junmyeon shakes his head. “You never did.”

“My brother caught me kissing a guy behind my middle school.” Sehun grimaces. “Let’s just say that he didn’t take it well. My dad didn’t either, when he found out.”

“Sehun. . .” Junmyeon starts. He stops. He doesn’t know what to say. He remembers that night last August: the two of them sitting by the marina, blasting Purple Rain into the water, Sehun’s head on his chest and the gaping ache of Sehun’s anguish. And it all finally makes sense

“It’s just me and my dad and my older brother,” Sehun continues. “My mom left us when I was a baby. I don’t know where she went. Dad never talked about it. I grew up in a tiny apartment in K-Town. Didn’t have a ton of money. My dad was always working--he owns a pawn shop in the Jewelry District. He never really had time for us but it was ok. I never really minded much when I was little. He’s an angry man and he’s always been hard to be around. So I ignored him and he ignored me. And my brother was too busy with his friends or whatever so he left me alone too. ” Sehun sighs. 

“It was ok being alone like that, you know? Because I wasn’t really alone. They still treated me like I was there. Like I existed. But then. . .” he trails off. “But then my brother caught me. After school one day when I was in 8th grade.” Sehun smiles to himself, tiny and sarcastic. “There was this boy. Daniel. I’d had the biggest crush on him forever--since like 5th grade. But I hadn’t told anyone. I’m not even really sure that I’d understood what I’d felt for him at first. Not really. But Daniel figured it out and he’d confronted me about it one day after school and well.” Sehun’s smile grows. “He kissed me. And I kissed him back.” Junmyeon seeks out Sehun’s hand with one of his own, tangling their fingers together. “My brother found us. He dragged me away. Brought me home. Told my dad what happened, what he’d seen. And my dad. . .he basically told me that I couldn’t be his son anymore. He just stopped talking to me. Acted like I didn’t exist. My brother did the same thing. I would go home and they’d just act like I wasn’t there. It was like I was a ghost and everyone was too afraid to touch me.”

Junmyeon’s heart jumps. “Sehun, that’s. . .” 

“It was awful, I know,” Sehun says. “My family was never all that great but at least they were _there_ you know? At least I had one. And then one day, they just decided that I wasn’t a part of them anymore. So I left as soon as I could. Worked really hard to get out and I came up here. I told myself that I’d try to find a place for myself up here. Try to find somewhere that would accept me, try to find a new family of my own, people that I’d chosen. People that would feel like home.” Sehun squeezes his hand. “And I think I’ve done that. I’ve found some of the most amazing people here. I have Chanyeol and Jongin and Minseok and everyone at the clinic. And I have you. And I feel so fucking lucky. So I try my best to give other people what I’ve found, you know? So that they don’t have to be alone.”

Junmyeon leans back and looks at Sehun. His eyes are rimmed red and he gives Junmyeon a half-hearted shrug. 

“I’m so sorry, Sehun,” Junmyeon says. “I really am.”

“It’s alright,” Sehun says. “Like I said. I have so much more now. I have so much that I can try to make sure that no one else feels this way.”

They fall silent after that; two bodies, huddled together, clinging to each other like they’re afraid of being swept away. Junmyeon’s entire world feels enormous, like it’s endless in its infinite loneliness. He tightens his hold on Sehun, wanting to meld their bones together until they’re one continuous, breathing body; so close, so warm, always together. Safe.

“I love you.” The words slip out before Junmyeon can stop them. But it feels right, having them out there, floating in front of them so that they can breathe them in. So he says it again: “I love you.”

Sehun inhales sharply and then runs a warm hand down Junmyeon’s back before slipping it under the hem of his shirt, pressing his fingers into Junmyeon’s skin. 

“I love you too, Junmyeon,” Sehun says. “So much. I feel like I’m so in love with you that I don’t even know what to do. You’re so much more than anyone or anything that I ever thought I could have.”

“You are too.” But the truth is, Junmyeon doesn’t think he has the words to use to really tell Sehun how he feels. He doesn’t know if there are enough words--not in English, not in Korean. Not in any language. So instead, she says it one more time: “I love you.”

Sehun holds him close.

“As I love you.”

** March 27, 1990 **

_ For You: Part 25 _

  1. Purple Rain - Prince
  2. Landslide - Fleetwood Mac
  3. I Wanna Be Adored - The Stone Roses
  4. Blue - Joni Mitchell
  5. Waiting In Vain - Bob Marley
  6. Your Song - Elton John

Junmyeon puts the cassette in his Walkman. He pulls his headphones over his ears and then turns off his bedside lamp, laying down. The darkness feels close and complete on his skin. He presses play. He starts to cry.

** September 4, 1991, Take Ten. **

_Gooooood morning, Portland! It’s 7:15 on September 4, 1991! _

Junmyeon calls in sick. 

He gets out of bed and walks over to his closet. 

The shoe box is still where he left it. He hadn’t meant to bring it with him when he moved to Portland, but something had told him to shove it into his duffle bag before leaving the Bay Area. It’s the one thing he never unpacked when he moved in--he’d just shoved it on the highest shelf in his closet, untouched and unopened. 

Today, he stretched up on his toes and reaches for it, bringing it down. A thin layer of dust has collected on the lid and Junmyeon wipes it off with the edge of his shirt. He sits back down on his bed and opens the box, revealing the mass of cassette tapes, all neatly arranged with their spines facing upwards. Sehun’s handwriting crawls up the spine of each jewel case, blocky and consistent across the years. 

_For You_.

Junmyeon has listened to each one more times than he can count, so many nights across the years filled with tiny bites music that Sehun had carefully picked out and hand-fed to Junmyeon with the hope that someone else’s songs could give voice to whatever Sehun was feeling. 

But it’s been so long, Junmyeon realizes now. Since he’d listened to any of these. He’d been to afraid--he’d moved to Portland to get away from everything he’d ever known, from all of his failures, to try to start over. To try to forget about love, which, as long as Junmyeon is being honest with himself, means forgetting about Sehun. 

But today, he needs answers, he needs clarity, he needs to feel _something_, any_thing_. So he digs around, finding the first one, the first cassette, _For You. Part One_.

Junmyeon takes the cassette out and then reaches over to his bedside table where his old Walkman and headphones are stashed. He pops the cassette in and pulls the headphones over his ears. He lays back in bed and presses play.

He closes his eyes.

\----

It’s nearly 5 in the evening when Junmyeon finally makes it to the last cassette, the one that Sehun had given him that very last night in the Castro, when Junmyeon had so easily broken his heart. The case is still cracked, the liner notes still spattered with drops of Junmyeon’s blood, gone rust-brown over time.

He turns the volume all the way up, letting the music thunder its way down through his bloodstream. 

Junmyeon pulls the headphones off when the last notes of Your Song fade out, his eyes wet. He gets out of bed, glances at the clock at his bedside. It’s just a few minutes shy of 5:30. If he hurries, he can still make it to Purple Rain.

** April 12, 1986 **

Sehun pushes him up against their bedroom door, claiming Junmyeon’s lips with his own. Junmyeon moans into his mouth, reaching up to tangle a hand in Sehun’s hair, tugging softly. Sehun sighs in response and works a hand underneath Junmyeon’s shirt, feeling his way up to his nipples.

Junmyeon kisses him back, swallowing his sigh, and arching into the hard line of Sehun’s body. His whole body has felt livewire excited all night, his skin sparking every time Sehun put his hands on him. They’d gone dancing out in the Castro tonight, a whole group of them, club-hopping to celebrate Sehun’s 21st birthday. They’d danced together, close, under the club’s lights, their bodies teasing at all of the possibilities for _later_. They’d crossed the line a few times: their hands sneaking under shirts, fingers dipping below waistbands, their lips lingering too long against necks, jaws, nipping at exposed skin. 

But now, behind their locked doors, they give all the way in. There’s an edge of desperation to their touches, hands roaming and breaths quick and short. Junmyeon let’s his free hand run down Sehun’s body, cupping at his ass. Sehun moans again, moving his mouth down to bite and suck at Junmyeon’s neck, forcing him to tilt his head back so that he bangs it against the door. Junmyeon fusses with Sehun’s belt, working to get it loose.

“How do you want to do this?” Sehun whispers, his voice raspy.

“_Me?_” Junmyeon laughs, swatting Sehun on the shoulder. “It’s your birthday. You’re in charge.”

“That’s a lot of power that you’re giving me,” Sehun says, smirking down at him. “You sure you wanna do that?”

Junmyeon rolls his eyes. “Didn’t you ever learn to never look a gift horse in the mouth? Just go along with it, you outrageous flirt.”

Sehun claims his lips again, easing Junmyeon’s mouth open with his tongue. Junmyeon sucks on the tip of his tongue, tasting the twin bitterness of the tequila shots they’d shared and the coolness of Sehun’s menthols. Sehun bends down, working his arms under Junmyeon’s thighs and then hoisting him up without breaking the kiss. Junmyeon instinctively wraps his legs around Sehun’s waist and winds his arms around his neck.

Sehun carries him to the bed, setting him down gently on the comforter. Junmyeon opens his eyes and watches as Sehun pulls his shirt off over his head and then undoes his belt the rest of the way, slipping out of his tight, black jeans.

“Why are you the only one getting undressed?” Junmyeon asks, propping himself up with one arm. Sehun is standing at the foot of the bed, naked aside from his boxers, slung low on his hips.

“Because I want to undress you,” Sehun says. He leans back in, forcing Junmyeon back down. “And I figured that my clothes would just get in the way.”

Junmyeon inhales sharply, as Sehun moves to hover over him, his gold pendant swinging between them like its keeping time. He supports himself with a hand on either side of Junmyeon’s head, bending in to kiss Junmyeon again, slow and sweet enough to make Junmyeon’s eyes slide shut and make his toes curl.

Sehun leans away again and repositions himself so that he’s straddling Junmyeon’s hips. He smirks at Junmyeon and then moves his hands to Junmyeon’s chest, unbuttoning his shirt. Junmyeon is so hard and he groans, trying to move his hips upwards, seeking more friction.

Sehun laughs softly and shushes him. He bends down to kiss at Junmyeon’s exposed chest. “Patience, baby,” Sehun whispers into his skin. “Let me do this? It is my birthday, right?”

Junmyeon shivers and nods. “It is,” he murmurs.

Sehun takes his time undressing him, pausing to kiss and suck at Junmyeon’s skin. By the time that he has Junmyeon’s jeans off and on the floor, Junmyeon is so, so hard and is gasping into the night.

“_Fuck_, Sehun, stop fucking teasing me,” he begs when Sehun finally works Junmyeon’s underwear off, tossing it on the floor.

“Teasing?” Sehun murmurs as he kisses at Junmyeon’s inner thigh. “Where? Who? Me?”

“I’m going to kill you,” Junmyeon threatens. He threads his hands into the pillow above his head. “Once this is over, I’m going to smother you with this pillow. See how you feel, then?”

“I think the flaw in that threat is the fact that I’ll be dead and incapable of feeling anything,” Sehun says, innocently.

“Are you always going to be a huge brat in bed?” Junmyeon says, exasperatedly.

“Maybe.” Sehun smiles at him with a quirk of one perfect eyebrow and then takes Junmyeon into his mouth.

Junmyeon gasps at the sudden rush of heat and presses his shoulders back into the mattress, trying his hardest to not thrust down Sehun’s throat. Sehun places a hand on the jut of Junmyeon’s hip, steadying him as he works his mouth down his shaft. 

Sehun is so good at this. He alternates between flicking his tongue over the tip, circling the head and taking Junmyeon deep, sinking so far down that Junmyeon hits the back of his throat.

Junmyeon is so wound up that it takes almost no time to get him to the edge, and he works his hand into Sehun’s thick hair and tugs as a warning.

“_Sehun_,” he moans, urgently. “I’m so---”

Sehun breaks off with a soft _pop_. He curls a hand around the base of Junmyeon’s dick, squeezing, tightly. 

Junmyeon cries out in frustration.

“Not like this,” Sehun says, his voice raw and lips red from sucking. “I want you inside me.”

“I won’t last,” Junmyeon warns. “I’m so close already.”

“It’s ok,” Sehun says. “You can cool down while you finger me.”

“_Jesus_.” Junmyeon swears under his breath. “Alright, if that’s what you want. Take your boxers off and get on your back.”

Sehun moves to do as he’s told and Junmyeon reaches over into their bedside table to retrieve the lube and a condom. He squeezes a generous amount of lube into his hand and turns around to see Sehun spread out on his back completely naked, his arms hooked under his knees, pulling them towards his chest. Junmyeon swears again. No matter how many times he gets to see Sehun like this, it never fails to take his breath away. He’s so fucking lucky that this is his life. He’s so fucking lucky that Sehun has chosen to do this with him.

Junmyeon leans down and kisses him as he works his lubed hand down, rubbing a slick finger over Sehun’s opening. Sehun gasps at the sensation, a short, breathy sound that Junmyeon swallows down. Junmyeon works one finger into him, slowly sinking in. It’s been a while since they’ve done it this way, and Junmyeon wants to be careful. He wants it to be good for Sehun. He deserves it.

But Sehun is demanding tonight, begging him to add another, to go harder, to work faster.

“Please, Junmyeon, I’m not this fragile,” he says. “I can take more than one at the beginning, you know that.”

“Calm down,” Junmyeon scolds. He works a second finger in anyways, circling around until he finds the small button of nerves, making Sehun cry out. He looks so beautiful like this; hair sweaty and mussed across his forehead, eyes squeezed shut in pleasure, lips bitten red. Junmyeon’s chest grows tight with arousal, his breaths coming in quick, short succession. He slides his fingers out of Sehun and adds more lube before sliding three in all at once, making Sehun shout.

“_Fuck_, Junmyeon that feels so good,” Sehun slurs as Junmyeon goes straight for his prostate, massaging it incessantly. “_God_.”

Junmyeon laughs under his breath and then leans back in to kiss Sehun again, deeper this time. He’s still so hard and so worked up that he doubts that he’ll last any significant amount of time so he ramps up his fingering, trying his best to get Sehun as close to the edge as he can.

Sehun’s riding Junmyeon’s hand, now, his hips circling in a desperate motion. His breathing has gone erratic and choppy and Junmyeon knows. He pulls his fingers out, making Sehun cry out in protest. Sehun’s dick is so hard and red, curving its way up towards his stomach, the head wet with precome. 

“It’s ok,” Junmyeon soothes. “I’m gonna let you finish, I promise.” He gropes around the mattress for the condom. “You’re gonna have to unwrap this for me, baby, my hands are too slippery.”

Sehun takes the condom from Junmyeon and quickly rips the wrapping open. He sits up and rolls the condom down to Junmyeon, the slick slide of his hands, making Junmyeon tremble.

Sehun lays back down, spreading his thighs wide enough for Junmyeon to settle between. Junmyeon slicks the last of the lube on his hand over his dick and then positions himself between his legs. Sehun wraps both legs around Junmyeon’s waist and pulls him in so that they’re pressed chest to chest, their breaths coming in frantic unison.

“I love you,” Junmyeon breathes into Sehun’s mouth. “Don’t ever forget that. There’s no one else in the world that I’d rather do this with.”

Sehun places a hand on the back of Junmyeon’s neck, holding him in place. He smiles at him, his face so wide and open with love and trust that Junmyeon almost loses the pace of his breaths.

“I love you, too,” Sehun says, softly. He kisses the corner of Junmyeon’s mouth. “How could I ever forget it? When you keep telling me? When you keep showing me how much you do?” Sehun redirects his kisses and nips at Junmyeon’s bottom lip. “But I’d love you even more if you’d actually fuck me.”

Junmyeon rolls his eyes. “Way to kill the moment.”

Sehun laughs out loud. “Not killing it,” he says. “I’m trying to get it started.”

Junmyeon groans in protest but reaches down to guide himself into Sehun’s warm, wet heat.

They both gasp as Junmyeon slides in, seating himself completely. Even after being fingered, Sehun is still so _tight_ and Junmyeon has to bite his lip to try to stop himself from losing it too soon.

He starts to move, slowly at first, but then faster when Sehun cries out his name, begging him to go harder. Sehun grips at his back, his fingers digging into Junmyeon’s muscles, urging him on.

“_Junmyeon_,” Sehun gasps. “This is---”

“I know,” Junmyeon says, planting both hands next to Sehun’s head, trying move faster. He’s so close, so close, but as much as he wants to find his release, he wants Sehun to finish first. He reaches down to take Sehun in his hand, rubbing his thumb over the crown, the way that he knows Sehun likes it. 

And, that’s all it takes. Sehun comes with a shout; his back arching off the bed, his eyes squeezing shut, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. 

The rippling of Sehun’s body pulls Junmyeon along and he finishes, moaning long and low into Sehun’s neck.

Junmyeon collapses on top of him after that; their hearts racing each other, their bodies still trembling. Junmyeon feels like he’s been rung out, his entire body shuddering as he tries to come back down from his high.

He sits up with a sigh, running to the bathroom to dispose of the condom and clean himself up. He comes back to the bedroom with a damp washcloth and he uses it to wipe Sehun off, tickling him in the process, making Sehun squirm away with a laugh.

“Happy Birthday, Sehun.” Junmyeon leans over and kisses him, deeply, letting their breaths mingle. He feels so full--of love, of happiness, of deep caring for this other man--that he’s afraid that he can’t carry it all, afraid that he’s about to overflow and spill out onto the bed. “I love you.”

“I know,” Sehun says. “And you know that I love you too.”

** September 4, 1991, Take Eleven. **

The phone rings--two times, three times, four. Junmyeon clutches the receiver to his cheek, listening to the peals echo through the emptiness of the connection stretching across the miles.

The phone keeps ringing, the chiming mixing in with the sound of the rain hitting Junmyeon’s windowpane. 

There’s a click on the other end as someone, finally, answers.

“_Hello?_” Even half-asleep and with more than a year of silence between them, Baekhyun still sounds the same.

It’s so jarring that Junmyeon loses all of his words.

“_Hello?_” Baekhyun says again. “_Hello?_”

“Baekhyun.” Junmyeon says, quietly. 

“_Junmyeon_?” Baekhyun’s voice fills with disbelief.

Junmyeon huffs out a tiny laugh. “Yeah, it’s me.”

Baekhyun swears under his breath. “_What the fuck. Do you even know what time it is?_”

“I’m guessing somewhere around midnight,” Junmyeon says. He tries to keep his voice from cracking. “I’m sorry for calling so late. I. . .just felt like I needed to talk to someone. And you were the first person that came to mind.”

“_Jesus_,” Baekhyun says. There’s soft murmuring in the background and then the tell-tale muffling of Baekhyun covering the mouthpiece as he speaks to someone in the background. Junmyeon can just make out the sound of rustling sheets and then Baekhyun comes back to the phone. “_Sorry about that. I woke up Kyungsoo._”

“How is he?” Junmyeon asks. 

“_Fine if you ignore how pissed he is that I woke him up in the middle of the night by being on the phone. He just left to take refuge in the living room. But that’s not the important part. How the hell are _you_? You’re the one who called me in the middle of the night on a Wednesday. Fuck, Junmyeon, no one has heard from you in over a year. We all thought you were dead._”

Junmyeon inhales sharply. “No,” he says. “Not dead.” 

“_Apparently not._” Baekhyun sighs. “_Where are you?_”

“I’m in Portland. Oregon. Been up here since last May.”

There’s a sharp inhale of breath. “_Does Sehun know that you’re up there? Or maybe--a better question. Do you know that Sehun is up there?_”

Junmyeon isn’t sure how to answer. He’d seen Sehun everyday for the past week--seeing his silhouette make its way across the dark theatre, looking at the way that Sehun looks, backlit underneath the marquee lights as Junmyeon rushes into the taxi cab. But Junmyeon doesn’t know if Sehun knows that’s here, at least not in this loop.

So instead, he just says: “No.” It’s easier that way.

“_Well_,” Baekhyun says. “_This is weird as hell, Junmyeon. I really never thought I’d hear your voice again. No one has heard from you. All we know is that you broke up with Sehun, moved back in with your mom. Then your grandma died and that was the last anyone heard from you. We really, really thought that you were dead_.”

“I kinda felt like I was dead.” Junmyeon plays with the phone cord, winding and unwinding it around his fingers. “It’s been. . .hard. Really hard.”

_“I’m sure it has been,” _Baekhyun says. “ _After everything that you’ve been through? Most people wouldn’t have gotten through that. It’s almost like you’ve gone through a war. I feel like I should be mad at you for disappearing like you did, but honestly? I’m just really fucking glad to hear your voice. I’m really glad you called. Even if it is at 12:30 in the morning_.”

“How have you been?” Junmyeon starts, tentatively. “How is everything?”

“_Things are good_,” Baekhyun says. “_I just got a new job. I’m teaching high schoolers now, can you imagine? I’m the assistant choir director at Bishop O’Dowd. And we adopted a dog. His name is Pepper, he’s a toy poodle. I’m really happy. We both are._”

“That’s so good.” And Junmyeon means it. Hearing about Baekhyun’s job, about his dog and his life Kyungsoo is like taking a glimpse into the life that Junmyeon had always dreamed of, of the life that he maybe could have had, if his stars had aligned differently.

_Or maybe if you hadn’t been so much of a fucking coward_, a tiny voice in the back of his head says. 

Something prickly folds itself into Junmyeon’s chest and he makes a soft choking noise, closing his eyes and covering his mouth.

“_Junmyeon?_” Baekhyun says. “_You okay?_” His voice is gentle and Junmyeon suddenly feels like he’s six years in the past and they’re sitting on Baekhyun’s bed as Baekhyun tries to coax Junmyeon into talking about his day.

Junmyeon nods, his hand still clasped over his mouth. He opens his eyes and is brought back to the present--to his empty bedroom and the sound of the rain.

“I’m ok,” he breathes into the receiver, struggling to hold his voice steady. “It’s really good to hear your voice, too, that’s all.”

“_You said that you needed to talk. Talk to me, Junmyeon. What made you call me in the middle of the night?_”

Junmyeon takes a deep breath. He doesn’t know what made him pick up his phone and dial the numbers that he, somehow, still has memorized. All he knows is that he had sat up awake all night; coming home from watching Purple Rain for what feels like the millionth time, walking right past Sehun again, too afraid to make eye contact, too afraid to speak to him. 

“I’m afraid, Baekhyun,” he admits in a gasping rush. “I’m scared and I feel so, so alone and all I wish is that I had everything back.”

“_Back?_”

“I wish I was back in the Bay and I wish I was still near you and Chanyeol and Jongin and Kyungsoo and I wish I had never left. I wish I had never had to say goodbye to my Halmeoni. I wish I had never--I wish I had never let Sehun go. I wish I had been brave enough to admit to myself that I _could_ have it all. That I could have my family and have the people that I love and stay with the person that I love and still be true to myself. I want all of that back.” They’re all truths that Junmyeon has been carrying around for months, but has never been brave enough to admit, not even to himself. Now that they’re out there in the open, the words crash against each other, with the harshest dissonance. “I should have never left.”

“_Sometimes you need to leave_,” Baekhyun says, “_to learn all of these things about yourself_. _You can always come back, Junmyeon. The Bay is still here for you. I’m still here for you_.”

“How can you say that?” Junmyeon pleads. “When Chanyeol and Jongin are gone and my grandmother is gone and I basically ran away from home? And when Sehun will hardly give me the time of day and I’m too afraid to even look at him?”

“_Places and people change_,” Baekhyun tells him. “_It doesn’t mean that they disappear forever. You’ve changed too, Junmyeon. Doesn’t mean that you’ve faded away._”

“But what do I do, Baekhyun? How do I make it _right_?” He wants Baekhyun to help him, to _fix him_, tell him what to do like he used to, every single time back then. He wants a fucking answer.

There’s a loud whoosh as Baekhyun exhales hard. “_I don’t know, Junmyeon. I don’t know if I can answer this for you. What does right look like for you?_”

Junmyeon squeezes his eyes shut and tries to imagine. A life where he’s 28 and he’s not waking up alone; where he turns around and sees Sehun behind him, waiting for him with a huge open smile on his face; where Baekhyun and Kyungsoo are still down the street, their door always unlocked for Junmyeon to wander in; where Chanyeol and Jongin are still close by; where Amber is still around to drag him to lunch and to Wednesday night movies; where his mother and his grandmother are both still alive and only look at him with joy when he comes by to visit and welcome him and Sehun with open arms; where the world doesn’t hate or neglect men like him, men who want and love other men. Junmyeon’s right is big and brash and bends time and space and society. Junmyeon’s right seems impossible.

“It looks like everything I want,” Junmyeon murmurs. “And so many things I can’t have.”

“_But that’s just part of life, isn’t it?_” Baekhyun says. “_Life is messy and imperfect and we never get exactly what we want. Sometimes we only get the parts that we can control. Focus on what you can control, Junmyeon. Those are the things that can work for you. You can make it happen._”

“How, Baekhyun?” Junmyeon begs into the phone. He pulls the cord taunt between his fingers. “_Tell me how?_”

“_I don’t know, Junmyeon. But I can help you figure it out. Me and all the other people who love and care about you_.”

“But what if none of those people are left?” Junmyeon asks, his voice small. “What if no one is left to care about me?”

“_Don’t you dare say that_,” Baekhyun says, forcefully. “_How can you say that? When I’m still here, listening to you? And when Chanyeol and Jongin would do anything for you, even if they are on the other side of the country? And I know that you must have found at least one person in that stupid, wet city that you ran away to that cares about you. You’re Junmyeon. People just tend to love you.. Even Sehun still loves you. I don’t give a fuck that we haven’t talked in a year, Junmyeon. You’re always going to be my brother. Don’t ever forget that._”

“Sehun still loves me?” 

“_Of course he does, you tiny idiot. You two were together for six years. We all thought that you were both going to be together forever. I bet you both thought that you were going to be together forever. You don’t lose a love like that in just a year. You still love him too, and you know that._”

Junmyeon bites his lip and nods again. The prickling in his chest, turns into a stabbing pain and he doubles over, bringing his head to his knees. “I do,” he murmurs. “I don’t think I know how to do anything but love him.”

“_Then you know for a fact that you’re not alone. So please, _please_ Junmyeon don’t ever forget that. You’re not alone. You can always lean on us. You can always call me, Kyungsoo’s grumpiness be damned._” Baekhyun grows quiet and then says so quickly, so quietly: “_I already thought that I lost you once. Please, for the love of God Junmyeon, don’t make me go through that again.”_

“I’m so sorry, Baekhyun,” Junmyeon says. He means it. “I won’t. I promise.”

Junmyeon can almost hear Baekhyun smile through the phone. “_Good_,” he says. “_So tell me all about Portland and what the fuck you’ve been up to for the past year._”

Junmyeon straightens up and leans back against his headboard. From this angle, he has a clear view of the street and he focuses on the way that the light from the streetlights pools on the wet sidewalks.

“Ok,” he says. It’s a relief, to talk about something else. “I guess I’ll start with work--”

They stay on the phone until 4 am, going back over the missed details of their lives. It feels. . .good, Junmyeon realizes. To open his heart up again, to share himself with someone who already knows him, someone who already knows his backstory and his hopes and dreams and fears. With someone who he can’t hide any part of himself from. With each moment that Junmyeon spends on the phone with Baekhyun, he slowly starts to feel himself wake up from his year-long slumber.

Baekhyun yawns on the other end of the line. “_I should go Junmyeon. I have to wake up for school in three hours._”

“Right. Sorry for keeping you up this late.”

“_Don’t you dare apologize_.” Baekhyun actually sounds angry. “_It’s been so long since we’ve talked. I’ll stay up this late tomorrow night, too, if it means that I get to keep talking to you, got it?_”

“Yeah.” Junmyeon can’t stop the smile that teases at the edges of his mouth. “Thank you, Baekhyun. I mean it. You really. . .you really helped me out tonight. I needed this.”

“_I’m glad you called. Keep calling me, ok? We’ll figure it all out together. You’re not alone. I love you, Junmyeon_.”

“I love you too, Baekhyun.” Junmyeon’s throat grows tight with the words. “I really do.”

** November 12, 1985 **

“You ever hear about those giant jellyfish that pilots say they see when they’re up in the sky?”

“The giant _what_?”

“The jellyfish. Look.” Sehun leans over his shoulder and plops the latest copy of_ The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction _on top of the newspaper that Junmyeon is flipping through. “There’s a whole article in here about giant red jellyfish that pilots say that they see while they’re flying over the Midwest during thunderstorms. But no one else has ever seen them and there are no pictures of them. Isn’t that creepy as hell?”

Junmyeon glances at the article in front of him. There’s an artist’s rendering of a giant electric scarlet jellyfish floating amongst storm dark clouds, its outline shimmering with lightning. 

“You’re probably the only person who’s still reading sci-fi magazines in this decade,” Junmyeon says, picking the magazine up to take a closer look. He hums to himself. “Do you think they’re lying? Do you think the pilots really see all this?”

Sehun tucks perches his chin on Junmyeon’s shoulder, reading along.

“I don’t know,” he says. “But I’d like to believe that they’re telling the truth. That there’s still stuff about the sky that we don’t understand.”

Junmyeon smiles and puts the magazine down on the desk. “You want to believe in sky jellyfish?” He twists his head to kiss Sehun on the cheek.

Sehun laughs, his eyes crinkling shut. “Maybe. I think that more than that, I want to believe in mystery. And if mystery means red sky jellyfish, then why not? They’re kinda beautiful, aren’t they? Just a little bit?”

“Yeah,” Junmyeon says, taking in the light in Sehun’s eyes and the bend of his smile. “They are.”

** September 4, 1991, Take Twelve. **

“I think I’m gonna take a cab home,” Amber says, once they walk to the curb. “I don’t feel like taking the bus this late.” 

“Ok.” Junmyeon chances a look over his shoulder. 

“Do you want to share?” 

“Maybe.” Junmyeon doesn’t turn around to face her. 

“What are you looking at?” Amber cranes her neck around, following Junmyeon’s gaze. The theatre door swings open then and Sehun walks out; still tall and so handsome in his old leather jacket, still looking out into the night. He spots them staring and stares back, recognition dawning over his face when he locks eyes with Junmyeon.

“Do you know him?” Amber asks. “He’s looking at you like he knows you.”

Junmyeon holds Sehun’s stare for a moment longer and then shakes his head. His heart is pounding.

“No,” he says, turning back to the curb. “He just looks like someone I used to know..” He smiles at her. “Do you want to try for that cab?”

Amber eyes him skeptically and then steps towards the street, her left arm up. “Yeah.”

Junmyeon looks over his shoulder once more. Sehun is still watching him.

** May 28, 1986 **

For You (Special Anniversary Edition)

  1. One Year of Love - Queen 
  2. There is A Light That Never Goes Out - The Smiths 
  3. This Must Be the Place -The Talking Heads
  4. Is This Love? - Bob Marley
  5. I’m Yours - Prince

_Junmyeon,_

_I went to the Griffith Observatory, once, when I was little. Among all the displays about the sun and the moon and the endless stars, they have an exhibit about the earth and the change in the seasons. Did you know that the first day of winter and the first day of summer are exactly six months apart? It’s like they’re exact opposites. Now that it’s all said and done, now that I’ve seen all your parts, and now that you’ve seen mine and now that I’ve touched your heart and now that I’ve let you into mine, it feels like I should say that we’re summer and winter, like we’re too different, too far apart to work. But that’s not true, Junmyeon--I don’t believe that. There are too many parts of myself in you, I felt too much of the beat of my own heart in the press of your mouth that first time we kissed. Maybe we’re more like mild-side of winter and close-cold of spring. Just close enough that we’re touching but still worlds apart. We’re different, but I think we’re really the same, in our souls. Never quite alike but just there, near enough that we understand each other. Just like there’s so much sun in the winter and how it sometimes snows in April, there’s just enough of me in you and you in me. _

_Promise me something? Always let me be your spring, Junmyeon. _

_Love you. From January to April. And then from April to January. Thank you for every minute of the past two years. Thank you for always being my winter._

_\-- Sehun_

** September 4, 1991, Take Thirteen **

“Enjoying the rain yet, grumpy?” Junmyeon looks up over the lip of his cubicle wall. Amber is hanging over the edge, smirking down at him, her bangs hanging into her eyes.

“It’s treating me fine,” Junmyeon says. He turns around in his chair, facing his friend.

“Amber,” he asks. “Do you mind if I ask you something?”

Amber shrugs and walks into his cubicle, leaning in the entryway. “Sure,” she says. “Ask away.”

“Have you ever been in love?” Junmyeon asks 

Amber blinks at him, startled. “Me? Yeah.” She runs a hand through her short hair. “Once, a while back.”

“How did you know?” Junmyeon presses. “Or, I guess. How did you let the other person know? How did you prove to them that you loved them?”

Amber frowns. “I guess I always kind of knew that I loved Krystal,” she says. “We grew up together, she lived down the street from me and we were close in age so we kind of did everything together. I guess I fell in love with her without really realizing it.”

“But how did you let her know that you loved her?” Junmyeon leans forward. “How did you get her to believe you?”

Amber furrows her brow. “Well she figured it out on her own. When we were in high school. We were hanging out at her house and she just turned to me and said ‘I know you know. And I feel the same, you know.’” Amber smiles to herself. “And that was kind of that. We started dating after that. But even though Krystal said that she knew and had known all along, for a long time, I didn’t really think she really, fully understood how much I loved her. Like, I’d been in love with her, one way or another since I was eight years old, you know?”

“So what did you do? To get her to understand?”

“I don’t really know how to say this, but I guess that I did my best to let her in, if that makes sense. Like I tried to be vulnerable with her. I tried to show her that no matter what, I’d always choose her. That her name was the one written on the inside of my chest. And I tried to meet her where she was. People like to make all this noise about meeting your boyfriend or girlfriend where they’re at. I think that’s what I tried my best to do. I tried to show her that I loved her by using the words and actions that she gave to me. I put my love in the same frame of the love that she showed me.”

“And did it work?” Junmyeon asks.

Amber nods. “It did. We’re not together anymore but we had an amazing relationship.” Amber smiles to herself, her face softening. “Sometimes you just grow apart, you know? We broke up about three years ago. Not because we didn’t love each other anymore, but because we’d changed. We’re different people now. She moved to Chicago and she’s doing really well. She has a great job in advertising and she’s dating again. We still talk and we still love each other. Just not in the way we did at the beginning.”

Amber looks at him with soft eyes. “Why are you asking?” she asks. “Are you in love, Junmyeon? Is there a mysterious someone that you’ve been hiding from me?”

Junmyeon rubs at his face. “Something like that. But--” he bites his lip. “This is someone that I loved in the past. Or at least I thought that I did. I was so certain at the time, but then I did something really awful to them. The type of thing that I don’t think anyone would do to someone that they really love. And this person. . .they recently came back into my life. And I’m trying to understand whether I ever really loved them at all. Or if I still love them now. And I don’t know what any of that would look like? I don’t know how I’d figure any of that out.”

“Start where you started,” Amber says. She laughs when Junmyeon frowns at her. “What I mean is, you need to go back to the things that made you fall for this person to start with. See if those things still make you want them, still make you need them. If they do then--” Amber snaps her fingers. “Maybe this is still the person that you love. Maybe you still do love them.”

“And then what? What do I do then?”

“Well, I definitely can’t answer that for you,” Amber says. “But maybe you’ll figure it out along the way.”

_Maybe_, Junmyeon thinks to himself. _Maybe I will._

“Anyways,” Amber says. “Movies tonight? Purple Rain is playing.”

Junmyeon swivels back around to face his computer.

“Sure,” he says. “Why the hell not.”


	3. Chapter 3

** July 4, 1987 **

Junmyeon feels weightless, electric, watching the phantom glimmer of the fireworks explode over their heads. 

“I love you,” Sehun whispers into his ear. “So much.”

Junmyeon’s heart explodes with the next firework’s crescendo. The crowd gasps at the bang of color. Junmyeon breaths in. The air tastes like sulfur and heat but his breaths are deep anyways, hoping that, maybe, some of Sehun’s words were caught in the ash. 

“I love you too.” It feels like a revelation every time he says it. “I’ll always love you. I’ll always want you like this.”

“How long?” 

“For as long as you’ll keep me. Forever.”

Junmyeon looks up, watching all the colors in the sky. It’s beautiful. So fucking beautiful.

** January 30, 1988 **

“Umma!” Junmyeon calls out as he unlocks the front door. “Halmeoni!” He toes off his sneakers by the door and steps further inside.

“Umma?” he says again as he pokes his head into the kitchen. His mother is standing over the stove, stirring a pot. She looks the same as always: she’s wearing a faded green short-sleeve house dress and her feet are tucked into a worn pair of gray cloth house slippers. Her long silver streaked hair pulled back into a neat knot at the nape of her neck and she’s frowning down at whatever she’s stirring in the old silver soup pot. The old Sony TV is on in the corner behind her; its bunny-ear antenna bent at a wild angle. A Campbell’s Soup commercial blares out on the screen and Junmyeon’s mother hums along to the jingle. 

“Umma.” Junmyeon goes over to the TV set and turns down the volume with a twist of the knob. “I’m here.”

“Didn’t hear you come in,” his mother says, not looking up from her cooking. Junmyeon watches as she adds a glug of sesame oil to the pot. “Can you put rice in the bowls and carry them to the table?”

Junmyeon retrieves three bowls from the cabinet and then goes over to the rice cooker, filling them to the brim.

“Is Halmeoni here?” Junmyeon asks as he places the bowls on the kitchen table.

“She’s upstairs resting.” His mother turns off the stove and then, finally, turns around to face him. She looks tired, Junmyeon realizes. More tired than he’s seen her, even after all the years that he’s seen her come home from seventeen hour shifts at the restaurant. There are dark shadows under her eyes, the delicate skin a bruised deep purple. She puts her hands on her hips and sighs. “Could you go get her? Dinner is just about ready.”

Junmyeon nods and then goes upstairs, knocking on the first door to the left.

“Yes?” His grandmother’s voice is muffled through the door and Junmyeon twists the door knob. His grandmother is sitting up in bed, a copy of _The Korea Herald_ open across her lap. 

“You’re here.” His grandmother says, a matter-of-factly. 

Even sick, Junmyeon’s grandmother still looks regal; her mouth prim, her hands still long and slender; her permed hair still circling her head in a halo of white, silver and gray. She looks at him; at the way he hesitates in the doorway, at the way he refuses to make eye contact with her and Junmyeon grows hot.

“It’s dinner time,” he says, simply. “Umma told me to call you.”

His grandmother nods. “I’ll come out in a moment.”

“Ok.” Junmyeon doesn’t know what else to say so he leaves, fleeing to the kitchen where his mother is placing banchan--tiny bowls of kimchi and pickled radish and marinated spinach and seasoned bean sprouts-- on the table. Three bowls of steaming hot jjigae take up the rest of the space, waiting for them to sit down.

“She’s coming,” Junmyeon says.

“You didn’t wait for her?” His mother turns back to the stove, placing the lid back on the pot.

“She said that she’d be in in a second.”

His mother frowns and shakes her head. She doesn’t say anything else. 

_The Wheel of Fortune_ is on in the background. Pat Sajak’s voice plays from the television, filling in the empty air.

His mother sits down at the table, taking her usual seat to the left. Junmyeon follows her lead, sitting down to her right. They sit there in silence. Junmyeon can see the TV out of the corner of his eye and he watches Vanna White, blonde and glowing in a deep purple dress, parade in front of the giant green letter board.

His grandmother finally appears, slowly easing herself into the last chair across from Junmyeon. She picks up her spoon and begins to eat, blowing on the hot broth before bringing the food to her mouth.

As if on cue, Junmyeon and his mother start to eat as well. Junmyeon spoons some of his rice into his jjigae and takes a bite. It’s good; spicy and full bodied, the shreds of beef melt against his tongue. His mother’s cooking is always good.

“When are you moving back home?” his grandmother asks, suddenly. Junmyeon looks up from his bowl, surprised at the sound of her voice. “You’ve long since graduated. You should come back here.”

“Halmeoni, I already have a place to stay,” Junmyeon replies. “I’m happy there. And I have a roommate.” He thinks of Sehun, who’s probably still down in The Castro, at the clinic. Junmyeon hopes that Sehun is home by the time he leaves. He wants nothing more than to curl up in bed tonight, just the two of them, with the radio turned on low in the background. “I can’t just abandon him like that.”

“I don’t understand_ why_.” His mother cuts in. She puts her spoon down on the table with a hard _clink_. “You can live here for free, save your money. Or even help out with the rent here.” She glances at Junmyeon’s grandmother, who's watching them both, her mouth in a thin line. “Imagine,” she says, “Your grandmother is here, sick, and you won’t even come home to help me take care of her. That I have to call you and beg you to come have dinner with us for the first time in two months.” She doesn’t raise her voice at him, but then again, Umma has never had to. Her words are always cold enough, clipped and frozen like ice, sharp enough to cut. “You’d rather waste your time and money in that house with that _boy_.” Junmyeon looks down into his jjigae, watching the way bits of green onion bob in the broth. 

“What type of son are you?” His mother whispers. “What son treats his family like this? We came to this country so that we could do _better_, so that you could have _better_. It was _hard_. And we took a gamble on you. And this is how you repay us? By making a fool of me? And a fool of your grandmother by not taking care of us when we need you and running around with a degenerate.”

“Don’t say that about Sehun.” Junmyeon’s voice is tight, small. He doesn’t look up. He’s trying his hardest not to cry. “Don’t talk about him like that. He’s--” He breaks off. He wants to say that Sehun is the best person he’s ever known. That Sehun has a heart four sizes too big for his body and that Junmyeon feels so privileged, so _fucking lucky_ to be loved by him. That being with Sehun is the closest he’s ever come to real, true happiness. That Sehun is his spring. And that he’s Sehun’s winter.

But his mother steals all the air from the room. And Junmyeon can’t find the words.

“He’s what?” His mother counters. “I’ve heard the whispers. I saw Minji Shin at the grocery store and she was saying how she saw that boy running around the hospital the other day, his arms around one of those men, the ones sick with AIDS. Like he’s asking for it.”

Junmyeon grips his spoon tightly, the thin metal handle cutting into his palm. He stares into his bowl. The jjigae is red like blood. The voice on the television in the corner announces the start of the 8 o’clock news. Junmyeon looks up. They’re replaying the Challenger footage. It’s all everyone has talked about for the last two days. Junmyeon has seen the images of the spaceship exploding against the deep blue Florida sky so many times that he’s memorized the command protocol.

_We have main engines start. five-four-three-two-one. And, lift off! Lift off of the twenty-fifth space shuttle mission._

_Engines at 65 percent, through engines running normally. . .Pretty good APUs. . .Velocity twenty-two hundred and fifty-seven feet per a second. . .altitude 4.9 nautical miles down-range distance just three nautical miles._

_. . .Challenger, going throttle up._

The ship hits a high point in the sky, plumes of smoke and fire streaming beneath, powering it upwards. Junmyeon starts his own internal countdown.

_ten-nine-eight-seven-six-five-four-three-two-one_

There’s the explosion in a burst of fire and gray smoke, the entire shuttle consumed by its own heat. Junmyeon doesn’t flinch, not this time. The horror doesn’t hit him as hard, not when he’s already watched it all burn so many times before.

“It’s so awful,” Halmeoni says, with a shake of her head. It’s like she’s oblivious to the tension, thick in the room. “I don’t know why we’re still bothering with going into space anyways. It’s a waste of money.” She eats some jjigae, primly raising the spoon to her mouth. “We’ve already gone to the moon, what more do they want? To touch all of space?”

The sudden trill of the phone cuts her off. Junmyeon springs up and goes to where the phone is mounted to the kitchen wall.

“Hello?” Junmyeon says. 

“_I finally found you._” It’s Chanyeol. “_I called your house and didn’t get an answer. Figured I’d try your mom’s._” His voice sounds strange, like he’s straining to speak. There’s noise in the background: music and voices. “_You busy tonight?”_

“Not really.” He glances at the dinner table, where his mother and grandmother are sitting, watching him over their bowls of soup.

_“Come meet me for a drink? Down on Telegraph?”_

Junmyeon looks away, focusing instead on the white plume of smoke still curling across the tv screen. It’s pretty, in a way. “Yeah. Alright. Where and when?”

“_Now? At White Horse.”_

“Alright,” Junmyeon says. “See you.” He hangs up. “I’m leaving,” he announces to his mother and grandmother. 

“Already?” Halmeoni says, surprised. “You’ve barely eaten anything.”

“Sorry, Halmeoni.” He doesn’t feel guilty.

His mother doesn’t say anything as he walks towards the front door. She just watches him as he turns away, an unreadable look on her face.

He’s walking away, he thinks as he laces up his shoes. He’s always walking away from his family. 

He steps out into the January night. The early evening’s darkness holds him close.

\----

He spots Chanyeol immediately. He’s sitting at the bar, a glass of whiskey clutched in one hand, a cigarette burning out in his other. The bar has the TV on and tuned to MTV, Michael Jackson dance battling above the bar.

“Hey,” he says, sliding into the empty barstool next to Chanyeol. Chanyeol nods at him and stubs his cigarette out in an ashtray.

“Took you long enough,” Chanyeol says, too loudly. He takes a sip of his whiskey, the ice cubes rattling against each other in the glass. Chanyeol looks rough, his hair clinging to the sweat on his forehead, his face flushed and eyes glazed from all the alcohol he’s had.

“Had to come over here from my mom’s place.” Junmyeon motions to the bartender, ordering a whiskey for himself. White Horse is surprisingly empty for a Saturday night, only a few people playing pool at the table in the back.

The bartender comes back and places a glass of whiskey in front of Junmyeon. Junmyeon takes a sip. The whiskey burns as it makes it way down.

“How’s your mom?” Chanyeol asks. “It’s been a while since you mentioned going over there. I was surprised when you answered the phone there, to be honest.”

Junmyeon remembers the ice in his mother’s words, the anger and the disdain in her voice as she spat out Sehun’s name.

“She’s fine,” Junmyeon says. He takes a large sip of his drink, wincing as he swallows. The burn starts to warm his stomach. “She’s the same as always. She’s doing really well.”

“She still bugging you about moving back in with her?”

“She’s never going to stop.” Junmyeon tightens his grip around his glass. The cold of the condensation feels good against his hot palm. “But I’m not going to. I won’t leave Sehun.”

Chanyeol smiles at him. It looks wrong--it’s watery and weak in the bar’s dim lighting. It doesn’t reach his eyes.

“You and Sehun,” Chanyeol says. He takes a big gulp of his drink, some of it messy dripping down his chin. He wipes it away. “I’m so fucking jealous of you guys.”

Junmyeon eyes his friend carefully. He’s not used to seeing Chanyeol like this. Chanyeol is known to drink; in the four years that they’ve known each other, the two of them have gone out and gotten completely shit faced together more times than Junmyeon can count. But Junmyeon has never seen him like this. Never drunk like this, not with the thick sting of bitterness laced in with the whiskey. Chanyeol looks lost, like he’s been swimming in his sadness, like a devastated ship lost at sea, begging to wreck itself on the nearest shore.

“Chanyeol?” Junmyeon whispers. He puts a hand on Chanyeol’s arm, gently, his own earlier misery sinking down to the bottom of his heart for him to dreg up later. “Are you ok?”

Chanyeol bites his lip and shakes his head. _“_He’s your forever kinda love, you know?” he says, rasping. “You and Sehun. It’s like he’s your everything. I’m jealous of you guys. It’s hard right now, you know?”

Junmyeon frowns. “What do you mean?”

“It’s scary to love a man the way I love Jongin,” Chanyeol continues. “Love is fucking killing us off now. Touch feels like a fucking death sentence.” Chanyeol drains his glass and sets it down hard, too hard, on the wooden bartop. “I finally told him, you know?” Chanyeol’s slurring, his words gone mushy. “I told Jongin how I feel last Saturday night, after you and Sehun left the party. It was just the two of us left in Baekhyun’s living room and we were just sitting there on the couch and I just _fucking_ told him that I was in love with him.” Chanyeol hiccups. “Like a goddamn fool.”

Junmyeon freezes and then moves his hand to Chanyeol’s back, rubbing between his shoulder blades. “Oh, Chanyeol,” he whispers. 

Chanyeol looks down at the bartop, his eyes rimmed red.

“He kissed me, you know,” he continues. “After I told him. He kissed me and it felt so good that I thought I was dreaming. And then he put his hands in my hair and ran them down my neck and I felt like my skin was on fucking fire and I wanted to put my hands on him, like _really _put them on him and--” Chanyeol chokes back a sob. “He wouldn’t let me,” he whispers. “He said it was too risky and that we shouldn’t even try until we both could get tested.”

“_Oh Chanyeol_,” Junmyeon says again, his heart huge and heavy in his chest. 

“And he was right,” Chanyeol continues. Both of his hands have made their way up to the bartop, and they’re gripping the ledge so tightly that Junmyeon is almost afraid that it’ll break off in Chanyeol’s hands. “It is too risky. You know what we fucking did instead?”

Junmyeon just shakes his head.

“We pulled down our pants and fucking jacked off in front of each other.” Chanyeol smiles to himself, a small bitter grin. “I watched him get himself off and it was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. I wanted to touch him so badly but I couldn’t. _We _couldn’t.” Chanyeol starts to cry, heaving sobs that make his whole body tremble. “What kind of life is this, Junmyeon? What kind of fucked up love is this?”

Junmyeon feels tears well up in his own eyes. His throat grows hot, tight. Chanyeol is right. What kind of love is this? A love that threatens to kill you, a love that seems like poison, like a death sentence. A love that his family refuses to name, a love that he can’t shout out. Junmyeon looks at his own hands, the hands that have touched and held and loved Sehun for so many years and he wonders. How much more can he hold? Is this love too big for him to carry? Is it too heavy for his soul?

But for now, he takes a deep breath and draws Chanyeol close to him, trying to keep his friend from shaking apart.

“It’s not so bad, Chanyeol,” he says. “You and Jongin are both gonna be ok. You can go get tested, Sehun can help. You know that he works at that clinic down in The Castro. It’ll be ok.”

“Is it worth it though?” Chanyeol slurs into his shoulder. “Is it even worth all of that?”

_Is it_? Junmyeon falls silent for a moment, Chanyeol’s question flinging open the door to his chest and letting the cold tear-soaked night into his heart. He closes his eyes. All he can see is the ice in his mother’s words and the ghostly outline of his grandmother’s aging face.

“It is worth it,” he says finally. “Even if it doesn’t seem like it is, it’s all worth it.”

Junmyeon isn’t sure if he believes it himself.

** September 4, 1991, Take Fourteen. **

_Dearly Beloved, we are gathered here today to get through this thing called life._

Junmyeon curls his fingers into his seat’s rough upholstery. He wishes he could find a way to claw his way out.

** April 27, 1988 **

It’s pitch black when Junmyeon wakes up. Their bedside clock glows red. 1:21 am. 

They’d gone to bed about three hours ago, after he’d gotten off the phone with his mother. She’d called late, her voice dull with panic. It still echoes in his head.

“_I want you to know that your grandmother is sick_,” she’d said, flat, matter-of-fact. “_We just got back from the hospital. She has cancer. In her blood._”

“Oh.” Junmyeon hadn’t known where to look. His eyes had darted between the striped-blue and white print on the bedspread, the carpet’s gray pile, the white wall. 

“_I want you to come home_,” his mother had said. “_Your grandmother deserves to have you nearby. You need to come and help us at home and at the restaurant._”

“Oh.”

“_Junmyeon. Come back home._”

“I don’t know, Umma,” he’d said, trying his hardest to not swallow his tongue. “I need. . .to think.”

“_What is there to think about? Your grandmother is sick, I need you here. It’s not a question._”

Sehun had walked back into the bedroom then, towel tied around his waist, his hair wet from the shower. He’d frowned at Junmyeon in confusion, seeing him on the phone with what was probably a stricken look on his face. 

“I know, Umma.” Sehun sat down next to him, snaking his hand around Junmyeon’s waist. It felt good to have Sehun there, solid and sure next to him and Junmyeon had sighed. “I just . . .please give me some time.”

“_Fine_,” she’d said, her voice clipped. She hung up, not saying goodbye.

Sehun had looked at him with concern painting over his face. Junmyeon had just smiled at him and shook his head, telling him not to worry.

But it’s hard, really. To not feel anxiety wash over him, especially now that the room is dark and silent, save for Sehun’s soft breaths. Junmyeon stares off into the corners of their bedroom, cast in dark shadows, and he feels the cold fear hit him. Four years ago, it would have been easy to answer his mother’s call. He would have packed up his apartment and moved back in to his childhood home, helped out around the house, tried his best to carry his Halmeoni through the worst of her illness. Four years ago, the trajectory of Junmyeon’s life had always bent back towards his mother and grandmother, back to their tiny house off of Telegraph Avenue. Then, he’d still been afraid of the dark. But the dark corners of his life had been lit by the low light of the kitchen lights in his family’s home. Four years ago, Junmyeon hadn’t known how bright the light could be. He hadn’t opened himself to that possibility. He hadn’t let himself be open to everything that he’d ever wanted to see.

But now, even lying awake in the midnight darkness, Junmyeon doesn’t think that his life has ever been brighter. He’s found light in another person--another person who’d come crashing into his life with slow smiles, a tenaciously giving heart, and a relentless urgency to be loved. Sehun has shown Junmyeon that it’s _okay_: okay to want things, okay to say yes to his deepest desires, okay to want something for himself. Okay to want someone as badly as he wants Sehun. Okay to want another man in the way that he’d been hiding for 26 years.

Junmyeon’s mother and grandmother had given him a better chance at life. They’d given up so much, just to give him a shot at having the world. But Sehun had shown him the promise of the universe. Sehun had lit every corner of his life with all of the brilliance of every galaxy’s brightest stars.

So Junmyeon’s mother is wrong. It _is_ a question. A question of what light Junmyeon wants to stand in. A question of what light he thinks he can live without.

Because if Junmyeon knows anything, it’s that he can’t have both. These two sides of his life, these two needs, these two obligations, can’t exist on the same side of the same coin. A good _safe_, _stable_ son doesn’t fall hopelessly, indelibly, in love with another man. No matter how much light he brings into his life.

Junmyeon’s breath catches and he closes his eyes. He rolls over and seeks out the warm solidity of Sehun’s body, pressing his face in between Sehun’s shoulder blades and working an arm around his boyfriend’s middle.

Sehun stirs in Junmyeon’s embrace.

“Junmyeon?” Sehun says, sleepily. “You alright?”

Junmyeon doesn’t move to say anything, keeping his face buried in Sehun’s soft skin. He tightens his hold around Sehun’s middle, not ever wanting to let go.

“Baby?” Sehun says, “What’s wrong?” Sehun twists around so that they’re facing each other. He puts one hand on Junmyeon’s face, rubbing gentle circles on his cheek. “Junmyeon?”

Junmyeon takes one deep breath and then another. He opens his eyes on the exhale, staring into Sehun’s face, which even in the darkness, shines with worry.

“My grandmother has cancer,” Junmyeon whispers. “Leukemia, probably. That’s what my mom said, when I was on the phone earlier.”

“_Shit_,” Sehun swears under his breath. He pulls Junmyeon close. “Oh Junmyeon. I’m so sorry.”

Junmyeon doesn’t know what to say. He just buries his face in the crook of Sehun’s neck and closes his eyes. And breathes.

“I know how much your family means to you.” Sehun strokes at his back. “What are you gonna do?”

“I don’t know,” Junmyeon’s voice cracks. “I have no fucking clue.”

“That’s ok,” Sehun whispers. “You don’t need to have an answer right now.”

But, doesn’t he?

** September 4, 1991, Take Fifteen. **

This time, Junmyeon waits, standing underneath the marquee lights.

This time, when Sehun steps out, the theatre doors swinging and banging behind him, Junmyeon looks at him and smiles.

And just as Sehun’s face starts to morph, dawning with recognition, Junmyeon turns away heading to the curb.

He hails a cab.

** December 20, 1987 **

_ For You, Christmas 1987 Edition _

  1. Last Christmas - Wham!
  2. Another Lonely Christmas - Prince
  3. Silent Night - The Temptations
  4. Thank God It’s Christmas - Queen
  5. River - Joni Mitchell

_Junmyeon,_

_I know you’re Buddhist and don’t really celebrate Christmas but I like Christmas and I love you so you’re getting a festive mixtape. If nothing else, this will give you something to sing along to in the car every December. And yeah, I snuck Joni’s River on here. It is, in my opinion, one of the best Christmas songs to exist. If you don’t agree, we can fight over it._

_Ho ho ho, Merry fucking Christmas._

_Your favorite elf,_

_Sehun_

** February 14, 1989 **

For You, Part 23

  1. Lovesong - The Cure
  2. Sweet Thing - Van Morrison
  3. The Beautiful Ones - Prince

_Happy Valentine’s Day, baby. Love you._

_-Sehun_

“My mother called me at work this afternoon.” Junmyeon looks down into his pasta. The cheese in the sauce has started to congeal, globs of pesto sticking to the plate. He drags his fork through them, the tines clearing tiny paths on the plate. “Sounds like my grandmother has taken a turn for the worse. She probably only has a few more months to live, a year, max. At least that’s what the doctors are saying.”

“What do you think you’re gonna do?” Sehun asks, gently. They’d decided to go out for dinner tonight, in an attempt to actually celebrate Valentine’s Day. They’d never done it before, not even in nearly five years of dating; Sehun always whining about how the holiday was deeply stupid and capitalist and Junmyeon not really caring much either way. But tonight, for whatever reason, neither of them had felt like cooking so they’d decided to venture out, ending up at the slightly better than decent 24-hour Italian place that they used to frequent back when they were students. 

It’s pretty packed tonight, nearly every table packed with undergrads, coupled up and over dressed, trying their very best to not splash red sauce on their shirts.

“I don’t know,” Junmyeon says, quietly. “My mom still really wants me to come home and I just don’t want to. I don’t want to leave you.”

“You wouldn’t really be leaving me,” Sehun says, reaching across the table to take his hand. “It would just be you taking care of your family. It’s fine.” He smiles at him, softly. “It’s fine, Junmyeon. Sometimes family needs you.”

_But you’re my family_. Junmyeon wants to shout. _I can be every part of myself near you. I don’t feel like I’m trapped in a cage when I’m with you. _

“I don’t know if it’s that simple,” Junmyeon murmurs. 

“Can’t it be?” Sehun asks. “I’ll still be here. The apartment will always be there for you when you need it again. It’s not like you have to pick one over the other.”

Junmyeon doesn’t know how to tell him that, yes, it _does_. Junmyeon hasn’t told him about the other calls--the ones that he gets in the middle of the day at work or the ones that sometimes come late at night. The way that his mother sounds when she whispers her disappointment into his ear, telling him about the shame that she feels, about how betrayed she’s felt.

“I’ve never told you this but. . .I feel like I have to now,” Junmyeon says. He puts his fork down. “My mother. . .she found out. About us.”

Sehun goes very, very still.

“How?”

“She’d kinda worked it out on her own,” Junmyeon says. He’s sweating, his shirt sticking in between his shoulder blades. “We moved in together which she thought was weird because I was always supposed to move back in with them when I graduated. And then one of her friends from Temple knows you.”

“Knows me?”

“Well, not really knows you, but she’s seen you around the hospital. She’s a nurse at SF General and she sees you when you come in with people from Coalition Care. You’ll remember her--Minji Shin? She came by our apartment once, running an errand for my mom. You answered the door.”

Realization dawns on Sehun’s face. “Oh,” he says.

“Well, Minji knows that you’re. . .gay.” It’s so hard to say it out loud. “And she asked my mom what I was doing, living with you.” Junmyeon takes a shaky breath. “My mom pieced it together, I guess. It wasn’t that hard, after all. I’ve never really done a good job of hiding how I feel about you.” Junmyeon offers Sehun a tiny smile. It’s the most that he can offer.

“Oh.” Sehun says. He frowns, picks up his fork, pushing some of his ravioli around his plate. “What are we gonna do?” He asks. He doesn’t look up.

“Nothing,” Junmyeon says. “There’s nothing that we can really do. It’s just a fact now. A part of my life.”

“And you’re okay with that?” Sehun doesn’t sound mad, just curious. “Are you okay with these two parts of your life intersecting like this?”

_No._ Junmyeon smiles at him weakly. “I have to be, don’t I?”

** September 4, 1991, Take Sixteen. **

_Gooooood morning, Portland! It’s 7:15 on September 4, 1991! Happy Wednesday! It’s another wet one out there, so grab your umbrellas and raincoats!_

Junmyeon gets out of bed. Stretches. 

The rain beats steady against his window. That’s the thing with Portland: the rain never leaves.

He goes through his morning routine. Cereal for breakfast, Pops this time. Showers. Shaves. Brushes his teeth. Gets dressed. White button down, black sweater, navy blue slacks, brown shoes. He grabs his umbrella and his Walkman. Slips his headphones over his ears. Steps out into the gray morning.

He presses play as he waits for his bus. It’s an old cassette, one of the first. _For You_,_ Part 7. _ Junmyeon watches the cars drive past, their tires spitting along on the slick road in time to The Police. The bus comes at 8:30, just like it always does. It’s just about half full when it reaches his stop, like it usually is. He nods to the bus driver as he pays his fare. Seventy-five cents. The ride to his office takes the same 25 minutes, the bus navigating its way from the suburbs into downtown Portland. His office is the same--cubicles just starting to fill as the clock strikes 9. He doesn’t take his headphones off as he makes his way to his desk. But he still says hello to Nick and Angie as he makes his coffee. Nods in acknowledgment to Susan. He settles at his desk, boots up his Gateway modem. The code he’d been working on last night flickers to life in front of him, the complex strings of numbers and letters blinking at him in green. He scrolls through, looking over his work from last night.

It’s all there. It all saved.

Junmyeon double and triple checks it. But no, all the code is there, arranged on the screen in neat green numbers. He glances down at the date in the corner of the screen.

**9/4/91.**

“Enjoying the rain yet, grumpy?” Junmyeon looks up over the lip of his cubicle wall. Amber is hanging over the edge, smirking down at him, her bangs hanging into her eyes. He pauses his music and slides the headphones off his head.

“Happy Wednesday to you too, Amber,” he says. He picks up his coffee and takes a sip. It’s still warm. “The rain is treating me just fine, thanks.”

“How’s your code?” Amber asks. She comes around to the entrance, and peers over his shoulder. “Hold on,” she says, noticing his headphones and Walkman, “are you listening to music?”

Junmyeon covers the front of the Walkman with his hand, blocking the clear plastic gap so that she can’t see the cassette inside.

“I am,” Junmyeon says. 

“I’ve literally never seen you listen to music before.” Amber looks shell-shocked. “What type of music do you even like?”

“I like lots of stuff,” Junmyeon shrugs. “Rock, RnB, pop. Funk.”

Amber’s eyebrows disappear into her bangs. “This is the most amazing thing I’ve ever heard,” she says, gleefully. “It’s like learning that there’s water on Mars.”

“Mars? Why _Mars_?”

“Because you’re basically an alien,” Amber explains like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “It’s like you were just beamed down from the spaceship when you got to Portland. You’re basically like Mork--you’re sweet and harmless but it’s like you know nothing about pop culture. It’s _weird_.”

Junmyeon rolls his eyes and flips Amber off. She gasps.

“_And_ you’re giving me the _finger_?” She places her hands over her heart in mock anguish. “Who are you and what have you done with Junmyeon?”

“Oh my god, Amber, stop this.” Junmyeon swivels back around in his seat. “I still have work to do and you’re distracting me.”

“It’s what I’m here for,” Amber says. “But I get it, I’ll go. But do you want to go to the movies tonight? Purple Rain is playing.”

“Sure.” Junmyeon takes a deep breath. “Let’s do it.”

“Awesome,” Amber replies. “Meet you in the lobby at six?”

“Deal.”

Junmyeon slides his headphones back over his ears and presses play.

\-----

“So have you ever seen _Purple Rain _before?” Amber asks as the movie theatre marquee comes into view.

** NOW PLAYING **

**CHILD’S PLAY 3** 1:15 4:00 7:30

**DEAD AGAIN** 3:00 5:25 8:40

**BEASTMASTER 2** 12:15 3:40 7:15 9:20

** TONIGHT ONLY! **

**PURPLE RAIN** 6:45

“I have,” Junmyeon admits. “A few times. My ex-boyfriend loved Prince.” It feels good to finally say it out loud to say it all out loud. “So we watched it a ton of times together. We even had it on VHS.”

Amber whistles. “Did you just admit to having had a boyfriend?” She pokes him in the ribs. “Did you just tell me something personal? Again: who are you and what have you done with Junmyeon?”

Junmyeon shrugs. “Maybe I’m finally ok with letting you in. Maybe you’ve finally earned my trust.”

Amber scowls at him. “About goddamn time. We’ve been friends for over a year now, you’d think that you’d finally tell me things. I’m basically your work wife.”

“Stick around a little bit longer and maybe I’ll reveal even more of my secrets,” Junmyeon says. He feels lighter than he ever has when they walk through the theatre’s door with a bang.

The buy tickets and popcorn and make their way into their theatre, sitting in their same seats in the middle. 

Junmyeon is filled with a strange sense of excitement when the lights finally go down and the Warner Brothers logo appears on the screen.

_Ladies and Gentlemen. . .The Revolution!_

His breath catches when the Kid appears on the screen, backlit in deep purple.

_Dearly Beloved, we are gathered here today to get through this thing called life._

Junmyeon mouths along to the words, each line and lyric so deeply embedded in his brain that they may as well be wired in with his synapses. 

Purple Rain was the soundtrack to his first taste at self-discovery. This movie has played backbeat to every part of Junmyeon’s own love story, his journey with Sehun running parallel to the Kid and Apollonia’s push and pull attempts at true intimacy. Every scene of this movie; every song, every note, is so saturated with memories of his time with Sehun--with his smile, with his tears, with his voice--that if Junmyeon listens carefully enough, he swears he can hear Sehun singing along.

And then, there it is. The sudden burst of yellow light from the hallway streaks into the theatre, making Junmyeon and Amber turn their attention from the scene playing out in front of them.

Junmyeon watches as Sehun makes his way to his seat, his heartbeat speeding up at the way that Sehun walks--straight-back and lanky--heading down the aisle.

Amber elbows him in the ribs. “Pay attention!” she hisses. “Did you come here to watch the movie or to watch some random guy interrupt the movie?”

Junmyeon shakes his head. “Sorry.”

_Electric word, life, it means forever and that’s a mighty long time._

He redirects his attention to the movie.

\----

“So how did it live up this time around?” Amber asks as they leave the theatre. 

“Good.” Junmyeon dumps the empty popcorn container into a trashcan as they pass by. “It was better than I remember it being. You?”

Amber shrugs. “It was fine. Pretty much just one long music video. But the music itself was great. I haven’t listened to that album in years. I should go back to it. It’s so good.”

Junmyeon nods as they head through the main doors, letting them bang behind them.

“How are you going to get home?” Amber asks as they step out into the rain. “I think I’m going to get a cab. We can split it if you want.” 

Junmyeon glances over his shoulder and then shakes his head. “Go on without me,” he says. His heart has started racing again and he takes a deep breath. “I think I’m just gonna take the bus. It’s cheaper.”

Amber shrugs. “Whatever then. Your loss.”

She steps towards the curb and sticks her hand out, hailing the taxi heading down the block. It flashes its lights in recognition and then pulls up.

“Lunch tomorrow,” Amber says as she gets in. “I want to hear all about your mysterious past relationships.”

Junmyeon smiles and nods at her. “Deal. We can get sandwiches.”

“Promise!”

“I promise!”

“Good.” Amber shuts the car door and the taxi speeds off.

Junmyeon takes another deep breath and then turns back towards the theatre to stand under the marquee. His hair is damp from the rain and he shivers as a light wind curls through the air. He shoves his hands in his coat pockets and he waits, rocking back and forth on the balls of this feet, watching the cars whiz past on the road in front of him.

He doesn’t have to wait long. The bang of the main doors cuts through the nighttime hum and Junmyeon turns around.

Sehun has looked the same every time; same height, same black leather jacket, same flannel shirt. But Junmyeon still feels his skin tighten around his bones, still feels the breath in his lungs go cold. There are somethings that will always shake his core.

Sehun notices him right away, stopping in his tracks, his mouth open in surprise. They look at each other for a moment until Junmyeon takes a deep breath and steps forward. 

“Hi, Sehun,” he says, softly. 

Sehun blinks at him and then recovers, surprise still splashed across his face.

“Junmyeon?” he says. He comes in closer, close enough that they’re standing shoulder to shoulder. “Fuck, is that you?”

Junmyeon nods. And _fuck_ he’s so nervous, his heart is racing and his palms are sweaty. He rubs his hands against the pants, trying to quell the dampness. Baekhyun’s voice comes to him, travelling across time and space: _Focus on what you can control, Junmyeon._

“Yeah, it’s me.” He offers Sehun a tiny smile.

Sehun keeps staring, looking at Junmyeon like he’s a ghost. He shakes his head in disbelief and then he exhales. “Fuck,” he swears again, under his breath. “I never thought I’d see you again,” he says, louder this time.

Junmyeon has to fight the urge to laugh. “Yeah,” he says instead. “Me neither.”

Sehun looks around; at the ground, at the sky, at the road. He finally settles on Junmyeon’s face. Junmyeon can see the unease and surprise on Sehun’s face. It’s an expression that throws him back into the past.

“What are you doing up here?” Sehun asks. “Rumor back home is that you went to Seattle or something. No one expected you to be here.”

“Didn’t make it all the way to Seattle,” Junmyeon says. “Ended up here instead. Guess you could say that I’m here to start over. But what about you? I could easily ask you the same question.”

“And I guess I could give you the same answer.” Sehun pats his pockets down, probably searching for his cigarettes. He reaches into the inside pocket of his leather jacket and Junmyeon, for the first time, spots a familiar glimmer of gold around his neck. Junmyeon inhales sharply as Sehun finally finds his cigarettes, opening up the pack. He takes one out and lights it with the lighter tucked into the cardboard box and then offers it to Junmyeon. Junmyeon keeps his eyes at Sehun’s neck as he takes the cigarettes from his hand, searching for another glint of gold.

Sehun blows out a plume of smoke. “I got a job up here and decided to come up here, to try to start over.” He twists the cigarette between his index and middle finger, restlessly. “It was about time that I moved on, I figured.”

Junmyeon lights his cigarette and takes a puff. “Yeah,” he says, exhaling. “Sometimes you just feel like you need to start over.”

They fall silent after that, just smoking their cigarettes, the smell of the menthol mixing with the scent of the night's rain. Junmyeon struggles to find the words, to figure out how to condense the weeks of almost-meetings, to figure out how to tell Sehun that he’s sorry, that he wants to talk to him, and that standing here--next to him--for the seventeenth-first time fills him with a bottomless yearning that he wants nothing more than to fill.

So he starts here: “Did Purple Rain hold up?” Junmyeon asks. “After all this time?”

Sehun looks at him through his bangs, startled. “It was about the same,” he replies, carefully. “But it didn’t hit me in the same way, not this time.”

“Why not?”

Sehun opens his mouth to respond and then brings his cigarette to his lips instead, like he thought better of it. He exhales in a sigh. “Because. . .I was watching it in a different place, I guess,” he says, pensively. “It’s a movie that I associate with the Bay, you know? Since I’d only ever watched it there. And I. . .” he trails off and then shakes his head. “And this was the first time that I watched it alone,” he finishes. “It’s not really the same.”

There’s a sudden pang in Junmyeon’s stomach, sharp and molten. He takes another drag off his cigarette, trying to quell the sensation. 

“Yeah,” he says. “I know what you mean. I didn’t come alone but it was different. Than it had been before.”

“Good different or bad different?” Sehun asks, an unreadable expression on his face.

“I don’t know,” Junmyeon says. He looks down at the pavement, soaked dark gray with the rain. ”It’s just different.”

He looks back up to see Sehun nod. “It is different,” Sehun replies. There’s something strange in his voice, something that Junmyeon has never heard before. “And I don’t know if it’s good or bad either.”

There’s the screech and release of breaks and they look down the street. The bus is three lights down, working its way towards the stop.

“I gotta take that home,” Sehun says. He stubs out his cigarette on the side of the theatre and drops it in the ashtray attached to the trash can. “I should probably get going.”

“I’m going that way too.” Junmyeon takes one last puff and then does the same with his cigarette.

Sehun bites his lip and then nods. “Shall we, then?”

Junmyeon pauses and then smiles, taken aback. “Ok.”

They hurry over to the bus stop, making it just as it pulls up. Junmyeon follows Sehun up the steps, paying his fare. It’s not too crowded--only a few people on their way home from work and a few teenagers, clearly on their way home from a concert filling the seats. They easily find two seats near the middle. Sehun sits down first. Junmyeon remains standing next to the open seat, unsure of what to do. 

“Don’t you want to sit?” Sehun asks, noticing his hesitation. 

“I. . .” It all feels too soon but Sehun is looking at him with cautious expectancy so he sits down. 

And it’s almost too much. Their shoulders brush together and Junmyeon can feel the warmth radiating off of Sehun. 

“Where’s your stop?” Sehun asks.

“Hawthorne. Not too far from here. It’s only four stops away.”

“Oh.” Sehun quirks his mouth to the side. “I’m down in Beaverton. So I basically have to ride this to the end of the line.”

Junmyeon just nods. 

The bus lurches forward as it pulls away from the curb and they fall silent, running out of words.

Junmyeon looks out the window, watching the glare from the streetlights and headlights wink at him in the rain splattered glass, all the colors bleeding together into an explosion of light.

The teenagers at the front of the bus have started playing music from one of their Walkman’s on full volume and a slow marching rhythm floats over towards them, the sound tinny through the headphones.

Sehun starts humming along, mouthing the words.

“You know this song?” Junmyeon asks.

“Yeah,” Sehun says, like it’s no big deal. “It’s Halah by Mazzy Star. I think it came out last year or something. I really like it--I have the band’s entire album.”

The pang is back in Junmyeon’s stomach. It’s probably a song that would have ended up on one of Sehun’s mixtapes, a song that Junmyeon also would have known by heart by now. But he tries to swallow down the ache and focus on the now.

“Looks like you still know every song in the world,” Junmyeon says, trying to keep the tone light.

Sehun smiles sheepishly and shrugs. “Music is still one of my favorite things in the world,” he says. “That definitely hasn’t changed.”

Junmyeon smiles back at him. “What else have you been listening to?” he asks.

And that makes Sehun light up. He launches into an animated summary of the Pearl Jam album he’d just bought, his eyes wide and his hands flailing. Sehun is so open, so excited that Junmyeon almost feels like it’s 1990 again and that they’re at home at their apartment in the Berkeley; both of them in the kitchen after dinner, music on while they wash the dishes together and Sehun tells Junmyeon exactly why the band on the radio is brillant.

The bus pulls up to a red light and Junmyeon looks out the window, noticing that his stop is next.

“I’m up next,” he says, interrupting Sehun. Sehun’s face noticeably falls but he nods.

“Oh,” Sehun says. “Alright. That was fast.”

“Yeah, like I said, I live really close to here.” Junmyeon hesitates. He takes a breath. “Can I. . .can we?”

Sehun raises one eyebrow at him. 

“I’m really glad that I got to see you tonight. And since you’re here and I’m here. . .could we maybe try to stay in touch? I might not have been here all that long but I do know some places around here that are worth seeing.” Junmyeon pauses. “I mean, if you want.”

Sehun nods, slowly. “Yeah. That might be. . . nice. It’s hard to be alone in a new place.”

Junmyeon offers him a smile. “Yeah. I remember when I first moved. It was hard then. It’s still kinda hard now.”

“Should we try, then?” Sehun asks, tentatively. “To make it a little bit easier on both of us?”

Junmyeon’s heart jumps. “It’s maybe worth a try.” He holds out a hand. “Give me your hand?”

Sehun eyes him suspiciously but takes his left hand out of his jacket pocket, placing it in Junmyeon’s own. Junmyeon reaches into his coat and pulls out the pen that he knows is there.

He uncaps it with his teeth and then draws Sehun’s hand closer to his face. Their palms are warm against each other, and Sehun’s fingers are as long and graceful as Junmyeon remembers. _Pianist hands_, that’s what Junmyeon used to whisper when they’d be laying in bed, twisting their fingers together. _You have hands for the piano_. Now though, Junmyeon just writes all ten digits of his phone number as carefully as he can across the back of Sehun’s hand.

“There,” he says, letting go. “Now you have my number.”

Sehun stares at his hand for a moment, an unfamiliar expression on his face. “Alright,” he says, “I’ll call you.” 

The bus comes to a stop.

Junmyeon gets up from the seat and hurries down the steps. His heart feels lighter.

** September 5, 1991, Take Two **

_Goooooooooddddd morning, Portland! _

_It’s 7:15 on Thursday, September 5, 1991. It’s a cool 64 degrees out there today and, of course, rainy. So pack those umbrellas and settle in for another wet and beautiful day in the Rose City!_

Junmyeon gropes around on his nightstand and hits snooze. He gets out of bed and starts his day. He showers and shaves. Eats breakfast, brushes his teeth. Gets dressed. He takes his time, picking out a burgundy sweater with a white button down underneath and black slacks. He lingers at the mirror after he finishes brushing his hair. There’s something new in his eyes; a spark of determination that had dimmed over the past month, a nervous glint of love and anticipation that had winked out a year ago. Maybe he feels a little bit reckless, a little bit like he did when he was 22 and falling in love for the first time. Maybe.

He grabs his keys and Walkman from his dresser, tucking two extra cassettes into his pocket. He puts on his raincoat, slips on his shoes. He heads out into the morning.

\------

“I need to borrow your radio.” Junmyeon knocks on the side of Amber’s cubicle, announcing himself. “Just for tonight.”

Amber looks up from her computer in surprise. She’s wearing her glasses and the oversized black frames make her look owlish.

“My radio?” she asks. “Why?”

“Because it’s small and battery-powered and can play cassettes,” Junmyeon explains. He walks into Amber’s space, sitting down in the spare chair she keeps in the corner. “Please?” He looks at her hopefully.

“I mean. . .sure?” Amber reaches over to the side of her desk and picks up the small blue Sony boombox by its handle. “Is this a continuation of your new found love for music?” 

“You could maybe call it that.” Junmyeon takes the tiny radio from her. “But thanks, I really appreciate it. I’ll bring it back tomorrow.” He stands to leave.

Amber raises an eyebrow at him, clearly wanting to know more but she doesn’t ask.

“Alright,” she says instead. “I’ll hold you to that. That’s my only source of music throughout the day and you’re stealing it from me.” She points at him menacingly. “Fuck it up and I’ll end you.”

“I’ll bring it back in one piece,” Junmyeon promises, putting his hand over his heart. “Boy Scouts’ honor.”

“Good.” Amber turns back to her computer. “You’re distracting me.” Junmyeon can hear the smile in her voice. “I gotta finish this assignment, so you have to go. Lunch at 12:30?”

“On my way out.” Junmyeon backs towards the entrance. “And yes, lunch at 12:30. I promised, didn’t I? I’ll pick up the sandwiches.”

“Deal,” Amber says. “Now go. Don’t you have work to do?”

Junmyeon heads back to his own cubicle with a smile on his face.

\------

Junmyeon leaves the office early, ducking out at 4:45. He hurries down the street, the tiny radio tucked under his raincoat to shield it from the rain, going past his bus stop to the Radio Shack around the corner. The store is empty, the clerk behind the counter is the only person there. She smiles at him when he comes in.

“Hi,” she calls out cheerfully. “Can I help you find something?”

Junmyeon returns her smile and goes up to the counter. “Hi.” He reads the silver name badge pinned to her chest. _Melissa_. “I’m looking for a tape deck?”

Melissa nods. “Of course. We have a couple different options, follow me.”

She leads him to a display at the back of the store where tape decks of varying levels of complexity are arranged.

“What do you need it for?” Melissa asks. “If you’re just looking for the standard set of functions, then I’d recommend this Revox model.” She points to a medium sized model on the middle shelf. “If you want more than that, then maybe the most recent Nakamichi?”

“Which one will let me make my own mixtapes?” Junmyeon asks. “And rip songs off of other cassettes?”

“The Revox will let you do that pretty easily,” Melissa says. “It’s really user friendly.”

“Then I’ll take that one,” he says.

Melissa smiles and takes it down from the shelf.

“I’ll ring you up.”

Junmyeon ends up getting the Revox and a set of 30 blank cassette tapes.

“Here you go,” Melissa says as she bags everything up. “I hope whoever you’re making the mixtapes for enjoys them.”

“Was it that obvious?” Junmyeon asks.

Melissa winks at him. “First time mixtape-makers all have a certain look.”

\-----

He hurries home, dropping his raincoat and the tiny radio by the door. 

He goes to his room and sits down on the floor with his old shoebox of cassettes and the new Revox. He unwraps it from its packaging, skimming over the instructions. It seems easy enough; put one cassette in one drive and the blank cassette in the other. Press record, press stop. He can do that. 

He digs through the box, selecting the first cassette. _For You_, _Part 4_. He puts it into the _Play_ drive and puts a blank cassette in the other. He plugs his headphones into the jack and gets started.

\----

As it turns out, making a mixtape is a lot harder than it looks. It takes Junmyeon multiple tries before he figures out how to get the timing right, finally pressing the _Record_ button just as the song starts and not cutting the song off too soon. 

And then there’s the whole issue of the tracklist. For some reason, Junmyeon had never given much thought to exactly _how_ the songs needed to arranged on the mixtape. He’d never really thought about flow or continuity so even after figuring out how to actually operate the tape deck properly, he still has to start over. Out of frustration, he gets up from the floor in search of a notepad and pen and attempts to map out the song list. It takes him a bunch of tries to get it right--he crosses out and rearranges the songs over and over, his left hand tugging at his hair, his bottom lip between his teeth as he worries it in concentration. It takes three crumpled sheets of paper and an hour and a half before he finally gets it right. 

Junmyeon holds his makeshift track list up to the light of his bedside lamp. He reads it over again and then, finally, nods in satisfaction. He puts his headphones back over his ears, pops a new cassette into the tape deck and starts again.

\----

It’s just past 9:30 when Junmyeon finally takes the completed mixtape out of the tape deck. The plastic is warm from it’s time whirring in the console and it seems to pulse in the palm of his hand with the same rhythm as the beating of Junmyeon’s heart.

He slides it into a jewel case and then gets up, his back aching from sitting on the hard floor for so many hours. He looks down at the mess he left behind--the tape deck out, balled up sheets of paper thrown about, cassettes left scattered around--and figures that he’ll just deal with it later.

Junmyeon goes to the kitchen instead, turning on the overhead light. It flickers for a moment as it settles in, washing the small space in an orange glow and illuminating the stack of dishes piled in the sink and the counter that he desperately needs to wipe down. Junmyeon winces. It’s been way too long since he’d taken the time to really clean up.

He goes to the cabinet and takes out a bowl, pouring himself a big bowl of Chex. Hunger pangs are crawling through his stomach but he can’t bring himself to cook anything. Cereal is always better than nothing.

The call comes just as he opens the fridge to get the milk.

“Hello?”

“_Junmyeon_? _It’s Sehun_.”

Junmyeon stills and then breathes out, slowly.

“Hi,” he says. “I wasn’t really expecting you to call so soon.” Or at all, really.

“_I just. . .”_ he trails off. “_I just wanted to let you know that it was really good to see you yesterday. And that I’d like to see you again. Maybe sometime soon. If you’re free._” He hears Sehun sigh. “_The thing is, it is really lonely up here. And I don’t really know anyone and it’s hard. You’ve always known that I don’t do well on my own._”

“Yeah, Sehun. Of course.” Junmyeon shuts the fridge and leans his back against the fridge’s cold exterior. “We can meet up whenever.”

“_How about now?_” Sehun asks. “_Are you doing anything_?”

“No.” Junmyeon’s heart starts pounding again. He looks at the time on the microwave. It’s 9:45. “I’m free.”

“_Can we. . .meet somewhere?_”

“Yeah--of course,” Junmyeon closes his eyes, thinking. “Do you have a car?” he asks after a pause. “Can you meet me at Mount Tabor?” 

“_I do have a car, but I’m not sure that I know where that is_,” Sehun says. 

“It’s in Southeast. In between Hawthorne and Division and Burnside.”

“_Okay_,” Sehun says. “_I can drive over now, but it might take me a little while--maybe forty-five minutes? I’ll all the way out in Beaverton. But I guess I’ll see you then?_”

“Yes,” Junmyeon says. “See you then.”

Sehun hangs up without saying goodbye. 

Junmyeon exhales hard. He opens the fridge again, taking out the milk. He pours it in his bowl. Takes a bite. It’s cold on his tongue.

\----

Junmyeon makes it to Mount Tabor Park at just shy of 10:15. The buses had stopped running on his street at 9:30, so he’d walked, his umbrella shielding him from the worst of the rain. He stands under a streetlamp by the entrance, facing the parking, his umbrella held over his head, his backpack slung over his left shoulder. It’s cold tonight and he shivers, the thin jacket he’d shrugged on before leaving his apartment doing almost nothing to shield him from the late night chill. 

The parking lot is completely empty except for the falling rain, puddling in the potholes and divets in the cracked concrete. It’s a little eerie like this, with no sounds around him except for the falling rain and Junmyeon shivers again, though this time he’s not sure if it’s from the cold or from the loneliness.

There’s a flash of headlights on the road and then the sound of the rain is cut through by the low rumble of an engine as a silver car turns into the lot. It pulls into the spot right in front of where Junmyeon is standing. The driver side door opens and Sehun gets out, looking around quizzically.

“Sorry it took me so long,” Sehun says as he walks over to Junmyeon. He’s wearing a yellow raincoat and he’s pulled the hood up over his head. It makes him look like a little kid. “It took me a while to find this place.”

“It’s alright,” Junmyeon says. “I really did pick somewhere out of the way.”

“Interesting place,” Sehun says, looking around. “It’s so high up above the city.”

“It’s an extinct volcano,” Junmyeon says, “and it’s one of the few places in Portland where there’s very little light pollution. I came here, once, when I first moved here. I kinda just stumbled upon it when I was walking around my neighborhood one evening. But I fell in love with it--it has some of the best views in the city.”

“So you didn’t bring me out here just so you could kill me and bury the body where no one would ever find it?” Sehun raises an eyebrow at him, his voice soft with teasing.

“No guarantees,” Junmyeon retorts.

“Then my life is in your hands.” Sehun takes out his cigarettes and lights one. “So, lead the way?”

They set off down the narrow trail, shoulder to shoulder. Junmyeon holds his umbrella higher, trying to shield them both from the rain. 

“Here, let me.” Sehun takes the umbrella from him, holding it up high. He’s tall enough that the umbrella seems to stretch further, covering both of their heads easily. “Better?”

Junmyeon nods. “Yeah. thanks.”

The trail narrows as the trees grow thicker, their branches stretching high above them, the leaves like open hands catching the raindrops on their palms. The path is unlit and their eyes strain to hold onto the glow of the streetlamp, fading out as they venture further in. The darkness pulls in close, crowding them closer together, their shoulders brushing against each other. Junmyeon can almost feel the warmth of Sehun’s body through their layers and his body trembles, like his bones are yearning for a closer touch.

“Are you cold?” Sehun asks, noticing.

“A bit.”

Junmyeon can just make out Sehun’s nod. “Me too,” Sehun says.“It’s colder than I thought it would be. It gets so much colder here than it does in the Bay.”

“It does,” Junmyeon agrees. He adjusts his backpack.

“How much further are we going?” Sehun asks. 

“Not much further. We’re gonna take a left right here.” Junmyeon points at the point where the path forks.

The trees grow thicker and then they part, as if in an exultant sigh, revealing a wide clearing easing into an overlook. Right over the edge is Portland, tiny and glowing like a thousand stars trapped beneath them. Their own private, rain-soaked galaxy.

“Oh wow,” Sehun whispers, taking in the view. “It’s so beautiful.”

“Isn’t it?” Junmyeon says. “It took my breath away the first time I saw it. It almost makes Portland worth it.” 

They stand there for a moment, side-by-side, taking in the fallen city lights. Sehun’s face reflects Portland, each dip and curve holding the dim light. He’s still so beautiful.

“Do you want to sit?” Junmyeon asks, his voice scraping as he forces the words out of his throat. 

“Where? On the grass?”

“No.” Junmyeon shakes his head. “There’s a covered bench right over there.”

They go over to the wooden bench, dry from the moss covered awning erected above it. They sit, Junmyeon, taking off his backpack and setting it on his lap. 

“Are you gonna tell me what you’re lugging around in your backpack now?” Sehun asks. He’s pulled his hood down. His hair is curling at the ends, damp from the rain. Again, Junmyeon has to stop himself from reaching out to smooth them straight.

“Sure,” he says, instead. He unzips his bag, taking out a bag of Haribo brand gummy bears, four cans of beers, Amber’s tiny radio, and a cassette tape, placing them in the stretch of bench between them.

“Gummy bears?” Sehun picks up the bag. 

“You like them,” Junmyeon says with a shrug.

“I do,” Sehun says quietly. 

“Aren’t you gonna open it?” Junmyeon asks, aiming for teasing but his voice not quite getting him there. “Or are you just going to stare at the package?”

Sehun gives him a tired look and then pulls at the plastic wrapping, opening the package. He takes out two gummies and pops them in his mouth, chewing slowly.

Junmyeon pops two of the beers open, taking a sip of his own before passing the other over to Sehun. The cans had stayed cold during the walk over and the beer is cool and crisp on his tongue. Sehun lights another cigarette, the smell of the nicotine turning sweet as it mixes with the smell of the rain.

“This is nice,” Sehun says in a plume of smoke. He’s looking ahead, staring off at the city lights. “This deep in the woods, it kinda smells like the redwoods in the Bay. It reminds me of home.”

Junmyeon takes the cigarettes and lighter from where Sehun left them in the gap between them on the bench. He lights his own.

“Yeah,” Junmyeon says on an exhale. “A lot of these trees are redwoods and aspens. Portland and the Bay area have a lot of the same trees. I think that’s why I like Mount Tabor so much. It smells a little like home.” Junmyeon takes another sip of his beer. “When I first found this place, I’d been feeling really lonely,” he says. “It was my third week here and I hadn’t found a job yet and I was scared. I’d just moved into my apartment after staying at a YMCA for the first few days and I was afraid that I’d made a huge mistake by moving here. It had rained everyday since I’d been here and I was feeling antsy and frantic after staying inside so I left and went for a walk in the middle of the night.” Junmyeon can remember the clawing tightness shredding through his chest as he’d wandered up and down the sidewalks, trying his best to not cry out. It had been hard--Portland’s damp-darkness had weighed in on him and made him feel like he was suffocating, like his lungs were filling with water. He’d never felt loneliness quite like that. 

He takes a pull on his cigarette and blows out the smoke, long and low. Even in the dark, Junmyeon can see the way that it curls in front of him, the pale gray cloud glowing in the twinkle of the lights below. It was the lights that saved him that night. The lights of the universe spread out beneath him, small enough to cup in the palm of his hands.

“When I found this place, even though it’s tucked away from everything, it finally kinda felt like home.” Junmyeon looks at Sehun. He’s still looking out over the edge, staring at the lights through the downpour, his face tense in its thoughtfulness. “When I came up here, I thought I was finally going to live on my own. I didn’t know it would be so hard.”

They fall into silence again, only the sounds of the rain on the awning filling the quiet air. 

“You know they finally solved the mystery of the sky jellyfish?” Sehun says abruptly.

“The what?” Junmyeon looks at him, confused.

“You don’t remember?” Sehun takes a sip of his beer. “The red glowing jellyfish in the sky. They took a picture of them two years ago, in 1989. They’re called sprites. The pilots weren’t lying after all.”

Junmyeon looks up to the sky, imagines what it would look like to actually see a sprite for himself. What the red lightning would look like all mixed in with the rain. “Sprites? Like the fairy?”

Sehun shrugs. “Guess so.”

Junmyeon starts laughing, his head thrown back as he sends his laughter into the night.

“Is it really that funny?” Sehun says, humor curving into his own words. He’s looking at Junmyeon now, his face lifting as he smiles.

“It’s a little funny,” Junmyeon says, catching his breath. “I’m glad that you still love space as much as you always have.”

Sehun smiles at him, looking down at the ground. “I guess somethings don’t ever change.”

They fall quiet again. Junmyeon reaches over to the radio, bringing it into his lap.

“I--uh. I made a mixtape,” he says. Just saying it out loud makes him feel so nervous. He holds up the radio. “I’ve never made one before but I decided to try it out. And then you called me and you said you were having a hard time so . . . I thought that it might be . . . nice.” He swallows. “Since you were always making them for people back home, I thought that if I showed you one that I made, maybe it’ll make things a little easier for you. You know? That it might remind you a little bit of home.”

Sehun looks at him with wide eyes and then nods. “Oh!” he says surprised. “Wow, I never thought I’d see the day that you’d make a mixtape.”

Junmyeon feels his face grow hot. “I mean, it wasn’t easy. It took me a thousand different tries to get it right. I don’t think I ever really showed you enough gratitude back when you were making them.”

“It takes practice to get it right,” Sehun agrees. “The first one is always the hardest.”

“What was your first mixtape like?” Junmyeon asks. 

Sehun leans back against the bench, puffing his cheeks out in thought.

“Wow, I haven’t thought about that in so long,” he says. “I think I made it when I was like 16 or so?” he frowns, thinking. “Yeah, I think that’s right. I made it for a boy in my art class. I had the biggest crush on him.” Sehun smiles to himself. “His name was Connor and all I wanted was for him to notice me. So I made him a tape with, like, a thousand songs by Joni Mitchell and the Cure. I used my brother’s tape deck and it took me all night to just figure out how to use it. Must have gone through like fifteen tapes before I got it right.” He laughs. “I guess I’m nothing if I’m not consistent.”

“Did he like it?” Junmyeon takes his cassette out of the case. He doesn’t put it in the player, not yet. 

Sehun shrugs. He brings his cigarette to his lips. “I don’t know,” he says on his exhale. “I never actually gave it to him. I chickened out at the last second. I kept it in my locker all year.”

“Oh.” Junmyeon says. “That’s kind of sad, don’t you think? To go through all that trouble only to never actually give it to him.”

“It is kind of sad,” Sehun says. “And that’s why you’re going to play your mixtape for me. Just so that your first mixtape doesn’t suffer the same fate as mine.” He looks pointedly at the cassette clutched in Junmyeon’s hand. “Don’t make me pry it out of your hand.”

Junmyeon presses the _Eject_ button on the player and loads his cassette. He closes it with unsteady fingers and presses _Play_.

The first chords of _Love_song play out into the night.

“The Cure?” Sehun asks.

“It’s a good song,” Junmyeon says as nonchalantly as he can muster. 

It’s hard; to share a mixtape like this. It’s so personal, so intimate. Junmyeon had recorded parts of his own soul, cutting and pasting songs that Sehun had carefully selected over the years and fashioning them into a tiny memoriam of the six years of their relationship. Songs that had given voice to their time together; to their triumphs, to their fears, to their losses. To their love. Sehun had said that he had felt alone. Junmyeon wants to show Sehun that he’s not alone, that despite the past year, that Junmyeon is still here for him. Junmyeon wants to tell him that he’s never forgotten that promise--that he’ll always answer if Sehun calls, that he’ll always try to make it better if Sehun needs him.

Junmyeon wants to remind him that there was a home here, maybe not the same as the one they built in Berkeley, but another home, a different home with different rafters and different colored walls but with the same songs playing through the rooms.

They sit in silence, listening to the cassette play. 

“Thank you,” Sehun says once the last notes of Side One have faded out. “This helped a lot. All of this--the music, the gummy bears, the park.”

“I hoped it would.” Junmyeon finishes his beer and opens another. “I know what it feels like to be lonely. I just don’t want you to feel that way, too.” He opens the cassette player and flips the tape, starting Side Two.

“Has it been that bad?” Sehun asks as the next song starts. He looks at Junmyeon, finally. “Being alone?”

Junmyeon takes a long sip of his beer, stalling. He doesn’t know what to say, how to tell Sehun that being alone has been the hardest thing he’s ever done. When, after spending his entire life surrounded by other people, being wrapped in love of so many kinds---from the hard blunt care given to him by his mother and grandmother to the slow soft love that Sehun had shown him---that being alone feels like the greatest void, like Junmyeon’s been tossed to the bottom of the darkest cavern, left to grope his way out.

“It hasn’t been easy,” Junmyeon says. “I didn’t know that anything could be this hard. It’s hard to not have anyone filling the space next to you, it’s hard to wake up alone. It’s hard to not have anyone to share my life with.” He smiles to himself. “I don’t think I ever really realized how much more my life means when I’m not alone. I’m not a . . .great person, you know?” Junmyeon finishes his cigarette and bends down to stub it out on the wet earth. “There’s nothing great about me. I’m uncertain and I’m easily scared and I barely know how to love myself.” 

Sehun opens his mouth to say something but Junmyeon shakes his head. 

“No--wait, let me finish,” Junmyeon says. “I’m no good on my own. Being around other people--friends, family--that’s what makes me good. I’m only good when I have someone else to be good _for_.” He sticks his hands in the pockets of his raincoat, trying to keep them warm. 

“My life has never been mine to decide on. You know that. I’ve always been working to give myself meaning through other people. And then when I failed. . .when I couldn’t be who I wanted to be at the same time as being who I needed to be. . .I freaked out. I feel like I ran away because I couldn’t be true to you,” he says in a rush. “And I couldn’t be true to myself. When you asked me to make a decision, I. . .I panicked. But with you, I felt like I had more life than I’d ever had before. I felt more alive, more in control. You had been my biggest, greatest decision for so long.” He looks at Sehun, pleadingly. 

“You need to understand, Sehun. You were the best thing that ever happened to me. But. . .I was afraid of what that decision meant. When my grandmother was dying. . .it felt like my mother was telling me that I couldn’t have both. I couldn’t say goodbye to Halmoeni while I was still with you. My mother treated me like a disease. She saw you as something that had infected me, as something that had eaten away at her perfect kid, at her stability and safety. And she used my grandmother to manipulate me out of you. But I can’t blame her, not really. I can only really blame myself. I made the choice to not really choose you. I could have walked away then, I mean, fuck, look at me. I’ve walked away _now_. I left the Bay, the only real home I’ve ever known. I left Baekhyun, my first real friend. And fuck, I left _you_. The closest thing to unconditional love that I’ve ever known.” He shakes his head again.

“The family that I had then was no real family. And I miss my mother, and my grandmother. How could I not? They raised me, they risked everything for me. But I needed to find my own family. I needed to decide what love looked like for me. What unconditional caring looked like for me.”

“You’re different now,” Sehun says, interrupting. “You’ve changed.” He blows out his final thread of smoke and then stubs out his cigarette on the damp wood. “I don’t know if I would have ever heard the old Junmyeon say this much about love before. I don’t know if he’d have been this introspective.”

Junmyeon bites his lip. Nods. “I know I have,” he admits. “I don’t feel the same. I feel like I’ve changed so much in the past year. I’m not sure that I know who I am anymore.”

“Change can be a good thing,” Sehun says. “It’s kind of part of growing up, isn’t it?”

“I’m 28. Aren’t I finished growing?”

“Are any of us ever done?” Sehun leans forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. “I don’t think so. I feel like I’m still growing up. I feel like there’s still so much for me to figure out.”

“I feel that way too.” Junmyeon looks up at the awning. Even in the dark, he can make out the remnants of a thousand old spiderwebs, the silver floss fragile and elegant as it blows in the wind. “I feel like I had to change after I came up here. I didn’t feel like the same person after I left home. I felt like I couldn’t still be the same person, not after everything I’d done. Not after everything I’d been through.” He takes a deep breath. He can taste the rain on this tongue. “I feel like I had to shave off all the parts of myself that made me hurt you. Made me hurt myself. Become someone who couldn’t hurt anyone again. I had to try to make myself as distant as possible so that no one else would want to love me again. . .not like the way you loved me. I. . .I didn’t want to risk it again.”

“Risk what?” Sehun asks. He sits up straight and turns to Junmyeon, looking him in the eyes. “Risk what?”

“Risk _feeling_ all of that again.” Junmyeon looks at Sehun, desperately. “You need to understand, Sehun. I loved you so desperately. Like I needed you. I loved you like I needed air. And I think, no fuck that, I _know_ that you loved me like that too. If you showed me _anything_, it’s that you loved me so completely, so fully. If you’re anything, you’re honest. And I fucked that all up. I didn’t show you the love that you deserved, not at the end. And I hurt you. It’s always going to be my biggest regret.”

“You keep saying ‘loved’ like I’ve forgotten about you.” Sehun shakes his head. “Like all it took was a year for me to get over you. I thought you said I was transparent? Junmyeon, I still love you. Didn’t I tell you all that time ago? You have all of my twenties. You’re so tangled up in me. . .I spent the past year trying to pry you out of my bones, I ran away from California because the entire state is soaked with your memory only to run right into you in the middle of Portland.” He laughs, tiny and rough. “I just can’t quit you. It’s like I’m always going to love you, it’s like the universe is conspiring to make sure that we’re always breathing the same air.”

“Sehun---”

“Nah, stop that.” Sehun cuts him off. “I don’t know what any of this means, Junmyeon. I’m sitting here, right next to you, right now, and my whole body aches.” He stops, takes a breath. “But at the same time I just want to scream and cry and laugh because I’m so fucking happy that I’m close to you again. You’re the best and worst thing that’s ever happened to me, but I still only want to be close to you.”

“So what do we do?” Junmyeon says. “Because I’m looking at you right now and for the first time in almost two years I’m not seeing fear. I don’t feel like I’m stuck in between two shards of broken glass. I’ve never felt more alone than I have in the time that I’ve been living in this fucking city but right now I feel so safe, so warm because I’m near you. I look at you and I don’t feel alone. What does any of this mean?”

“There he is,” Sehun murmurs.

“What?”

“There he is,” he says again. “There’s that tiny spark of the old Junmyeon.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“I don’t know,” Sehun says. “But I do know that the old Junmyeon is someone that I loved with my entire body. I think I could stand to get to know the new Junmyeon. Maybe there’s something in there to build something new on top of.” Sehun’s voice runs ragged, and he shakes his head. “I’m here and you’re here and I don’t really have what I had before, but I still, sort of, have you. And something tells me that it’s worth a shot?” Sehun takes Junmyeon’s beer out of his hand and takes a sip.

“I’m not the same person either, you know,” he continues. “Losing you. . .and then losing Chanyeol and Jongin and then leaving the clinic. . .it’s like it all cut parts of my heart out of me. It’s like I lost so much of myself in the process. Part of me moving up here was to figure out a way to fill in everything that I’d lost. In a way, I guess I’m just like you. So whatever we do from here out, whatever relationship we have--friends or something else--is gonna be different. We’re two different people, trying to navigate a whole different world. The one we had before, those six years in the Bay. . .it almost feels like that world ended. We’re trying to make a new one, up here.”

Junmyeon nods, his throat tight. He doesn’t know why he feels like crying.

“Yeah,” he says. “You’re right.” Maybe this isn’t a second chance, after all. Maybe this is just a new beginning. Maybe, sitting out here barely sheltered from the pouring late night rain, Junmyeon’s really just been brought back to where he started, not six years ago, but all the way back to when he was 17 and peering out his window at Minho and Kibum, kissing in the rain, stuck wishing that he could be them, that he could live their lives. Maybe this is his chance now, eleven years later. To be the type of person who takes chances in the rain. Who looks up at the sky and finally sees all the colors splattered across its expanse.

“Maybe this is us trying to figuring it out. All over again.” Junmyeon can almost hear Baekhyun’s voice coming towards him through the night. 

“_Places and people change_. _It doesn’t mean that they disappear forever. You’ve changed too, Junmyeon. Doesn’t mean that you’ve faded away._” He and Sehun have both changed. But maybe, _maybe_, this thing between them hasn’t completely disappeared.

Sehun grins. “Maybe. And you know what? I think I’d really like that.”

Sehun reaches over and turns up the music.

_Honey, I know, I know_

_I know times are changing_

_It's time we all reach out_

_For something new, that means you too_

There’s a timid touch and Junmyeon looks down to see where Sehun has reached over, placing his hand on top of Junmyeon’s own. Junmyeon looks back up at Sehun. Sehun holds his gaze for a moment before looking away, staring straight ahead. Junmyeon follows his gaze. The city glimmers back at them-- each light its own bright star.

It’s stopped raining.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINAL THOUGHTS/FEELINGS:  
If you made it this far, then THANK YOU for reading! This has definitely been the most difficult thing I've ever written, both thematically and plot-wise. I didn't mean for this to turn into the monster fic that it turned into, when I set out to write this I was just planning on writing something like a Prince movie lol. But it spiraled into something a lot more complicated and something a lot more personal so here you go.
> 
> A few thank yous:  
First, a huge THANK YOU to empress_seulgi_ who read a really early draft of this when I was half way to abandoning it and told me that this was worth continuing and for the invaluable early feedback. I (very literally) could not have finished this without you.
> 
> And another THANK YOU to music and every single song and artist that’s ever helped me get through life. So that warrants a special shout out to Prince who was there 30 years ago for my parents when they were my age and wandering through an unstable world and who’s been there for me--at my highest highs and for my lowest lows. And another shout out to Alexisonfire, a band who’s been with me for half of my life and who has written songs that filled some of my deepest places.
> 
> And a few rambly last notes:
> 
> So generally, time loops are one of my least favorite plot devices. I usually find them tedious and kind of dull but since I was originally writing this fic for the One For All fest, I thought that a time loop might be an interesting way to handle the prompt. I (obviously) didn’t finish this in time for the fest posting, but I learned a lot about time loops and its usage as a trope along the way. Fun fact: the first movie released in the U.S. that prominently featured a time loop was the short-film 12:01 PM which was released in 1990. The movie is based on a story published in the December 1973 edition of the science fiction magazine The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction. If you recall, Amber specifically mentions this movie when Junmyeon asks her about whether or not she knows anything about time loops and this is the magazine where Sehun first learns about sprites.
> 
> I tried to stay as true to the actual events and history of the 80s and 90s, so all of the events that are mentioned and all of the songs and movies mentioned are real and were out at the respective times that they were brought up. Sprites are a real thing! And they really weren’t captured on camera until 1989. September 4, 1991 really was a Wednesday! 
> 
> Before any PDX people jump down my throat--yes I know that the bus line that Sehun and Junmyeon take together makes no geographical sense. I made it this way for the sake of the plot, let me live pls.
> 
> This fic was a really huge endeavor (I know that I say that about everything I write but hear me out). It required so much research about literally everything from the food mentioned to the music to the fucking bus routes of Portland, OR in the 90s to landmarks in SF and LA. I’m lucky enough to have lived/spent significant time in all of these cities but even still, they’ve all changed a lot in the past 35-ish years. 
> 
> Because there's already so much music in this fic, I'm not leaving you with a playlist this time around. If you want more recs/want to know specifically what I was listening to when I wrote certain scenes, feel free to message me.
> 
> I wanted this fic to be something that spoke to the angst and uncertainty that comes along with being in your late 20s and not really being sure about what you’re trying to do next or who you’re trying to be. I feel like this feeling was probably a lot stronger in the early 90s when it was the norm for people in their mid-late 20s to get married and buy houses and start families. I feel like it would be hard to be in a place where you’re not doing that, where you can’t do that because of your sexual orientation or some other reason and then feeling afraid of that uncertainty. I hope that I was able to capture some of that here.
> 
> It would feel irresponsible for me to write a fic about queer men set in the 80s and 90s in the Bay Area and not make some mention of the fear that AIDS and death set off in the community. I tried to do it a gentle justice. I hope that that sensitivity came across here.  
So let me know what you thought! I hope you liked it!
> 
> (I'm retreating back into retirement but if you need me, come find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/intensencounter))

**Author's Note:**

> IF YOU WANT TO SKIP THE PARTS DEALING W/ MENTIONS OF THE AIDS CRISIS:  
\- November 30, 1985  
\- April 19, 1984  
\- January 30, 1988  
* none of these scenes are necessarily integral to the plot and if you want to skip them, you won't be at a disadvantage


End file.
